


Lost But Not Forgotten

by HoneyPot (BeepBeepBitchie)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Skarsgard is his faceclaim for obvious reasons, Child Murder, F/M, Human Form, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV shifts, Pennywise Is a Grade A stalker, Pennywise goes by Robert Gray in human form, Plot Twists, Slow Burn, Smut Eventually, Telepathy, honestly im just joining in on this sin bin for the fun of it, we're all gonna fuck the clown its okay you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-01-28 15:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12609548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeepBeepBitchie/pseuds/HoneyPot
Summary: You've moved to Derry, Maine and you've settled in easily, finding the slow pace of the sleepy little town to be just what you needed- Murder and vanishing children aside. Too bad someone else thinks you should be living a much more interesting life, with him being the center of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So i joined in this fun, and i gotta say.... It was pretty easy to write this quick little chapter? I hope you enjoy, because there is surely more to come!

He awoke to a melting pot of scents. A child's joy, a newlyweds euphoria, the bitterness of a man working a nine to five job somewhere he hated, the nervousness of a newcomer. Crisp autumn air lulled him from his deep slumber, the stirrings of something foreign brimming just at the surface of Derry’s population and grabbing his attention.  
He stood by the edge of the canal, the sun rising just beyond the treeline- the color a mesmerizing golden color with burnt orange hues with streaks of reddish pink. This was an odd place to rouse from his sleep, but he supposed it made sense… He did so enjoy The Barrens and the waterfront it occupied.  
Tired. So many years of rest and yet he was still oh so tired. Those humans he had taken for granted surely did a number on him, they had been so close to successfully snuffing his ageless existence out. Weary limbs ached and he flexed his fingers, staring down into lily padded waters, vaguely swaying his weight in attempt to keep upright.  
He felt disoriented, fuzzy around the edges as he gathered his bearings, trying to find a focus in his form. He was spending too much energy, strength he did not yet have so early in his rousing, and certainly needed an easier form to take. He ran a rough tongue along his teeth, letting their normally bladed edges shrink and square, his bones popping and locking, twisting and readjusting to a new appearance. He watched with muted interest through the reflection of murky water as his body shifted and changed from a pale and sickly looking clown, to a form he had nearly forgotten about that had always been a breeze to inhabit.  
Robert Gray had been a favored form of his to walk about humans with many many years ago, and as he ran a hand through thick dark hair he remembered why.  
He was conventionally handsome by human standards, full lips and nicely arched brows with a lean figure and long legs. Lithe shoulders, a jawline for days and large haunting eyes. A near perfect disguise.  
Yes, he decided. This is a convincing skin to take while he gathered the strength he needed to feed. For now, he would walk amongst the flesh sacks. It wouldn't take long, maybe a few days to collect his power and once again be able pick off Derry one by one, then he could finally sink his teeth into the new meat of the small town.  
He inhaled deeply, rolling stiff shoulders and tasting the air.  
He recognised much of Derry, familiar scents muddled by the old and sleepy towns existence, but what struck him most was a deep tang of something sweet. Too sweet.  
A newcomer. New blood. Not Derry born.  
He spun on his heels, eyes flickering with interest. Who could be so unlucky to visit little old Derry, so new and shiney? So fresh and interesting?  
He took a leisurely pace, strolling towards town with a smirk pulling at his lips while leaves crunched under his shoes.  
What a nice smell indeed.

 

It was the buttcrack of dawn, and yet there were an ungodly amount of people stuffed into the diner booths. You were running back and forth, practically chucking pots of coffee at customers to keep them happy while you hoped for a good tip and for them to get the fuck out before they could order their third plate of pancakes.  
Derry was a small town, with winding back roads and rickety old houses and a single stretch of shops the locals hailed as their downtown. You adored it, the charm pleasing you in ways big cities has never been able to, with the bonus of none of these people knowing jackshit about you.  
You were new. The gossip of town, a strange young woman who purchased the cheapest house in Derry and fixed it nice and proper over the summer since you had arrived in late spring. All they knew is what they saw, a waitress eager to please who seemed to always arrive on time with that ranch or ketchup they hadn't even ordered yet, a mind reader of sorts.  
If only they really knew. If only they could hear what you heard.  
For now, it was a muffled ringing of your ears- hardly there. This the beginning of your shift, you still had the self discipline to keep their mutterings from hindering your thoughts. Still, you could sense them. Their emotions. Like little waves of ultra thin sheets clouding your path while you scampered past booth after booth with order after order.  
Table three, where Mary-Elizabeth and her new husband Brandon sat, had a distinct sense of something bright and cheery between them. You could only label it an unseen glow, a taste of something reminiscent to fresh and warm cookies or the smell of sunshine on a wheat field.  
Table eight was the opposite, a freelance worker who was mystery to you sat at his table with lips in thin lines and eyes bloodshot and angry. He reeked of regret. His veil was riddled with something dark and unpleasant. but his wallet sat on the table, fat with bills and you swore the sight made your mouth water. He had received excellent service since that wallet had been set in the table.  
Table one was a family, all fresh from a camping trip down the road. They were a halo of sleepy little minds who talked loudly and gorged on breakfast food in delight. They were a single form of happiness, pure and untainted.

Your co-workers were all decent people. All of them with their own unique waves and personalities. Their thoughts, ones you had heard, had never been too much a bother. They worried about the same things you did; Money, family, the bachelorette. At the end of the day, they were all similar to you in many aspects… if you discounted the telepathy and ability to vaguely read emotions of others.  
You tried your best to come off as nothing but a quirky newcomer, a harmless young woman who moved to the small town for a change of pace. Sometimes you would slip up, a warm touch to a fellow waitress’ hand while she sat in the break room, her thoughts a tangled mess over her boyfriend had drawn attention to yourself one too many times. Compassion for others was a problem in its own right, you supposed. Word got around the workplace jokingly that you had a sixth sense.  
“Tell me the lottery numbers! Haha!”  
That one was thrown around quite a lot, you mused. If anyone wished you knew the future, it was you. Especially if it involved winning lottery numbers.

“[First Name],” came a soft voice to your side.  
You had been refilling ketchup bottles in a rush, sticky red mess accidentally splattered across your once clean hands. You looked up, smiling when you noticed the voice belonged to another waitress named Daphne that you had grown to enjoy.  
She returned the smile, nodding at your hands. “ I can take over, Jessica sat another person in your section. Uber cute guy, by the way.”  
You set the ketchup bottles down, nodding. “Sure, and tell Jessica to stop sitting so many people in my section. Vegas is working too.”  
Daphne scoffed at the aforementioned waiter. “Hardly working. His tables need refills and I bet she only at the guy in your section because she can ogle him from the hostess desk.”  
You shrugged a shoulder, letting out a snort of laughter and hurrying to wash your hands. Once they were dry you sped past the bottling station and the back in general, snagging a plate of food for a table of yours and setting it down without receiving a reply.  
You took your pen and notebook out, making your way to a booth where the back of a tall and lean dark haired man was set to you.  
“Good morning, what can I get for you today?” you said with a customer service smile, turning to face the man who kept the menu in front of him shut and unread.  
“Good morning.” He mirrored your words, piercing blue eyes digging into your very being. His voice sounded a tad raspy and low, as if it had been out of use for many years.  
He was indeed handsome. A strong jaw with high and regal cheekbones, straight dark brown hair and nicely groomed brows. He seemed to take care of his image, wearing a pair of slacks and a newly pressed dress shirt.  
One thing, however, bothered you.  
You felt nothing from him. No taste of something, anything, in the air. Nothing hit you as you shifted uneasily, keeping your thoughts from slipping into your expression.  
His eyes burned, portraying eagerness and maybe veiled confusion. He smiled very suddenly, full lips pulling into an attractive tilt.  
“I'll have a coke.” he said simply, gaze wandering down your form. “Never seen you here before.”  
“I'm new,” you scribbled down his coke order, secretly allowing your mental walls to fall.  
It call came at once and as always, it was overwhelming. Every person's thoughts swarmed past your barrier and it took you a second to get ahold of yourself, trying to zero in on the man in front of you.  
You listened, waited.  
“Can i get you anything else?” you said, hiding the uncertainty in your voice with a beaming smile.  
There was nothing. Just static. A buzzing noise, like he was canceling you out, keeping you at bay. His eyebrow quirked.  
“No…”  
You left without another word, throwing your walls back up and blocking the nonsense of the diner. You felt his gaze on you as you left for the drink station, caution in your step. You took a clean glass from the back, chucking ice in it and feeling jittery.  
Nothing. You didn't hear anything with him. Or feel anything. You felt a small yet excited smile tug at your lips, wondering if the man was a local or not. You had only been in Derry a few months, and you were either at the diner serving patrons or working on your fixer upper of a house, so you had yet to see much of the townsfolk. If there was a chance someone was unreadable, then maybe for once in your life you could let your guard down and at least attempt to make a friend. Or in the very least, a friendly acquaintance. You had dreamed of a day when you could stand next to someone and not hear every single thought that bubbled to the surface or get wave after wave of their bending and changing emotions.  
You wanted normalcy, dammit. So maybe this was your chance?  
You filled the glass with soda, hesitating as you grabbed a straw. Was it wrong of you to put so much pressure on someone you just met…? You should obviously introduce yourself first, then work your way from there.  
Walking quickly back, you set the glass down along with the straw, about to turn away before pausing.  
“Are you a local?”  
He took the straw, tapping it on the table and removing the wrapper. Those eyes found you again, genuine interest behind them.  
“Just moved back, actually. Names Robert.”  
Yes. Perfect.  
He didn't offer a hand in greeting, dropping his straw in his glass as you stood awkwardly at his side, your excitement brimming at the surface.  
“[First Name].” you said, watch as he swirled the drink in the glass, but did not drink. “So why Derry?”  
Robert merely shrugged. “Old haunt of mine I suppose. I thought it was time to come back, is all. You’re not a local are you, [First Name]?”  
“Ah, no.” You shook your head before tilting it slightly, table three emitting a mild discomfort. You could only guess that someone would need coffee.  
They could wait.  
“I moved to Derry this summer, bought a house down on Neibolt street, near the old victorian that's supposedly haunted or whatever.” You noticed how the dark haired man still hadn't drank his soda, but said nothing.  
He gave you a mildly surprised look, taking the straw in his mouth and sipping once before swallowing quickly- leaning forward with a smirk.  
“You don't think it’s haunted? The old Neibolt house by the tracks? Not a believer in the supernatural?”  
“No. not exactly that. I believe. I just don't get a the sense there are spirits. Something bad happened there, for sure. What, I don't know, but it isn't haunted. Anyhow, is there anything else i can get you?”  
That table three was getting rather annoyed you hadn't come over to them. A pity, you wanted to speak with Robert longer.  
“No. Thanks. Hope I see you around [First Name].” He gave you a dismissive wave, as if he also noticed how riled up your other tables were becoming from the lack of service.  
You spun on your heels, resuming work but keeping Robert in your thoughts, eager to come back and chat a bit more. However, when you returned with a refill for his coke you assumed he would have finished, you were met with a barely touched glass and a twenty shoved underneath. No Robert in sight.


	2. Chapter 2

The slam of your front door brought a relief you couldn't even begin to compare to, sluggish steps leading you past the mudroom entrance and to your couch- where you plopped yourself down and groaned into the suede fabric. Work was shit - per usual, you mused. Your customers had been bordering the line of monkeys or maybe a flock of really really pissed geese with the amount of complaining, gossip and snappy tones they all had. Your only real moment of peace of the day had been when Robert waltzed in, full lips and striking blue eyes the only source of silence throughout your shift.  
The last remaining two hours of your day had been plagued with the tell all buzzing of your barrier weakening, your exhaustion beginning to leave you defenseless from the diners and your fellow waitstaff's wandering thoughts. By the last ten minutes of your shift, while you wiped down tables and handed drinks to customers, you were seconds away from choking any man or woman who dared to think or speak. Everyone was talking about it, whether with hunched backs and behind their hands in hushed tones or with great booming voices that reached the ears of children in the diner or even on the sidewalk. Everyone was talking about it.  
The murders.  
You rolled to your side, facing the tv situated across from the couch and snatched the remote from the coffee table. The tv gave a moment of static, humming to life before pulling a clear picture and tired voice of the local news anchor.

“ _-To the shock of Derry, Martha Ebcock allegedly also stabbed and drowned her two small children, Laura and Janet. Her husband was too distraught for an interview, but the investigation as to what encouraged such uncharacteristic actions of the church going mother of two is still underway. Martha’s odd suicide is still being looked into, with many speculating that her husband Doug Ebcock, was responsible._ ”

‘How terrible,’ you thought, rubbing your cheek into a throw pillow and watching while your limbs ached from work and the stress of the day. ‘How absolutely horrible.’  
The anchor went on about the story, detailing gruesome information that made your stomach twist and flip, disgusted and utterly baffled a mother could do something so terrible to her own children. You promptly changed the channel to something more suitable, a horror flick. Lost Boys was one of the many films you had enjoyed in your youth and were glad was still appreciated on cable television. It needed more love, especially so close to halloween. You watched in muted awe, still spellbound after all these years to see the cheesy effects, gorgeous glam rock vampires and cheap eighties humor.  
A rumble of your stomach caught your attention, your insides begrudgingly reminding you of your basic human needs.  
“God, okay, hungry.” You muttered, hearing your stomach once again announce a whale mating call so spontaneously that it roused you from your laying position and encouraged you to rise.  
Your stomach continued you growl while you padded to the kitchen, upset that all you had fed it that morning was a hasty handful of dry cereal shoveled into your mouth as you hurried out the front door. The house itself was small, a perfect size for a single young woman to steal off the market at such a staggeringly low cost in Derry. Two small bedrooms with no distinguishing between thinking one was a master or not, one full sized bathroom, and a hole in the wall space in the moderately sized kitchen and dining area that fit your computer desk was really all the room you needed. Your bigger living room was merely a bonus in your mind.  
You opened the fridge, peering inside and sighing through your nose. Nothing worth eating, just a carton of milk, nearly spoiled meat and a few spare apples inside the white wasteland. You needed to go shopping.  
Opting to just take one for the team and nab an apple, you shut the fridge with your shoe, glancing around and thinking back to what was in your pantry. Dry cereal, obviously, and maybe a few snack like things that had been sitting in your cabinets since you moved in back in May. Man, you sucked at adulting. Where was your dad to nag you to grab groceries when you needed him?  
“Ha.” A laugh came, echoing through the empty house, a laugh that wasn't yours.  
You snapped your neck in the direction of the voice, eyes wide and muscles tense. An empty doorway greeted you, nothing but air and the flickering light from your tv bouncing on the walls to be seen. The hairs on your neck raised and you steadied yourself, dying down the fear that had jolted through you so suddenly.  
You hadn't imagined that. You couldn't have imagined that. The voice had been clear as day, smooth like velvet and unfamiliar.  
“What the actual fuck?” you whispered, tiptoeing to the doorway that led back to your living room, blinking owlishly when you yet again saw nothing suspicious waiting for you in the other room. “I reiterate. What the fuck?”  
You stepped into the living room, rubbing the skin of the apple against your shirt in an effort to shine it and seem unphased, eyes darting to the uninhabited corners. You shook you head, taking a bite and rubbing the juices that trailed past your lips away.  
No, you imagined it. No one was in the fucking house, and you were stressed as all hell after work. Anyhow, if someone was really inside, you would have heard their thoughts before you even stepped inside- there was no hiding from you when it really came down to it. You sat back down on the couch, using your heels to kick your shoes off and under the coffee table, choosing to relax and ignore you had ever imagined a creepy ass laugh in your house.  
Lost Boys continued to play on screen and before you knew it, your apple was finished all but the core and you were satiated for now so you gently set it down on the table, knowing you would toss it before you went to bed. Outside, just beyond thin curtains covering your living room windows, you noticed the sun had finally set, darkness only illuminated by streetlights and the soft glow of the moon. Even from your spot on the couch you could see freckles of silver stars across the navy sky, and you suddenly realized it had been years since you had seen so many stars.  
Your dad had been a city man, a white collar worker who had believed in hard work for good money and that the world didn't owe him a single thing. The two of you had always stayed in a nice apartment in the middle of the big bustling city where smog clouded the skies and made star gazing nearly impossible. You had moved often as a child, his work as a businessman dragging you all over the states. You mother hadn't been in the picture for long, as far as your father mentioned anyhow, and your father had easily stepped in to be a strong single father for you. He provided you with what you needed, even a little more if you were being honest. He knew you were different, he vaguely accepted you could rifle through his thoughts but it was never spoken of at home.  
That was alright, you supposed. He wanted normalcy, he deserved it. Your father had done nothing but right by you, even paid for your college and your first car. Of course you grew up with a strong work ethic, you had been raised by a man who lived by the saying “you don't work ,you don't get to complain” and you respected him for it, so naturally you nabbed jobs left and right once you were of working age. First it was working in a library, next it was fast food, then waitressing, and briefly you worked as a temp at your father's firm. College came and you enrolled, taking the classes you assumed you needed to take and majoring in something that didn't exactly speak to you but excited your father. He always wanted you to be self supporting, he knew eventually you would leave and have to be on your own and he didn't want you to struggle.  
Still, the major didn't appeal to you, and much to his disappointment, you ended up dropping. You wanted simplicity, a small town life, and after a bit of a fight with your father, you were able to load your car up with your belongings and start a journey with no real destination.  
Derry was sweet and humble, a small town that fit like a glove. There were beautiful old houses, a sort of close knit community you had hoped to be part of, and it was riddled with greenery. You were still close enough to a local community college if you chose to take back to school, the housing was dirt cheap - which was a big bonus for Maine of all places- and the locals seemed welcoming enough.  
You closed on your house early May and invited your father to visit. Your relationship had been a bit strained since you left college, but after a week of bonding and renovating your cozy home, you had gone right back to where you started. The diner was hiring full time, you snagged that job a bit before your father left for the big city. You joined in on town activities like the carnival or the summer festival, volunteered at the animal shelter for a bit and you had even hang out with a few co-workers outside of work.  
In all, you were building a life in Derry. A nice simple life. A peaceful life where all you had to worry about was making sure no one caught on that you would do something as outrageous as read minds.  
You were nearing your twenty-sixth birthday, it wasn't like you needed more than that anyhow.  
Maybe a boyfriend.  
But that wasn't exactly a priority. Afterall, most of the Derry men around your age were either married or in long committed relationships. The few that weren't were absolute buffoons with one thing on their mind that frankly wouldn't happen unless they got past the eighteenth date. Daphne had tried and failed to set you on a blind date with some guy named Tucker or maybe Steve who the hell knew, and all you heard while sitting beside him at the theater was just a constant string of obscenities and lewd thoughts. He absolutely reeked of something foul and desperate, his greasy movie theater butter coated fingers trying to snatch your hand and failing each time.  
After the movie you had skillfully dodged a kiss that smelt like a mix of sticky flat soda and rot, knowing that there would be no second date.  
Daphne had invited you out with her little friend group multiple times, out to local spots where twenty-somethings got wasted or even to an out of town club to dance it up. They had all been fun nights and you enjoyed Daphne and her friend’s company, you always looked forward to weekends where they had invited you out to party. You wanted to enjoy that time alone, in a friend group, not worrying about someone latched on to you and watching your every move. You didn't need that.  
You sighed, dragging a fleece blanket to wrap around yourself and deciding it was a nice enough night to slip out on your porch and sit with your phone and enjoy the silence of Neibolt street.  
You opened your front door, cloaked in a warm blanket and inhaled the cool nighttime breeze, smelling the soft earth, wet leaves and dew on the cold grass. Derry was nothing like the city, it didn't smell of pollution and booze. It smelt safe and familiar, like you belonged in the little town.  
You turned the porch light on with a flick of your wrist, settling on the porch swing you and your father had set up when he visited, rocking slightly back and forth while allowing the glow of your phone screen to cast over your features.  
You scrolled through Instagram, seeing the faces of people who barely knew or cared to know from cities you had visited in the past, and pulled the blanket closer.  
“[First Name]?”  
You lifted your head, alerted by someone calling your name. The sidewalk was barely illuminated by the streetlights, but you could still make the silhouette of a tall man by the edge of your sidewalk, hands shoved into a heavy looking jacket. It took you a second, but slowly you recognized the man, raising an eyebrow.  
“Robert? From the diner?” You said slowly, rising and tucking your phone in your jean pocket.  
He spun to face you, the dimness of the porchlight catching his eyes even from the distance between you, reflecting amber before muddling into some other vague color you knew was truly blue.  
“The same, I didn't realize you and I were such close neighbours.” He nodded his head down the street, where the houses were far and few between. “I live at the end of the street.”  
You debated suddenly, torn between retreating back inside to avoid the near stranger and welcoming him to your porch for polite conversation. You wanted to appear friendly to those in Derry, an old local certainly, and it wasn't like you would have to waste energy blocking him out since for once in your life you met someone who was immune to your ability… And man were you curious as to why that was.  
Fuck it.  
You were going to be a friendly neighbour and make Mr. Rogers proud.  
“Welcome to Neibolt, may I be the first to warn you about the spooky as fuck house down the street.” You offered a smile, nodding to the porch swing. “If you’re not in a hurry, you can hang out. I’m not doing anything special tonight besides watching Lost Boys and scrolling through social media.”  
“You know what, I’d like that.” He said, straightening his shoulders and walking up the sidewalk that lead to your porch.  
Robert took long and smooth strides, his face framed perfectly by shadows and the porch light and honestly seeming a bit too handsome for his own good. He as a looker, that was for sure. You couldn't help but reject the urge to stare at his full lips, instead meeting bright eyes with a friendly gleam behind them.  
“Nice house.” He sat down, inviting you with a tilt of his lips to sit beside him.  
You did so, peering at him with interest as you listening to the faint wisp of static between you. Yet again, nothing. You couldn't hear a single thought from his pretty little head.  
Interesting.  
“Thanks, I bought it this summer. It’s old, but it's got character.” you tucked your legs under yourself crisscross style, facing him with a tilt of your head. “Which house is yours? The blue one, 23rd? I heard it was for sale recently.”  
He licked his bottom lip, not even hiding a smile. “No, I suppose you would call it the spooky as fuck house. 29th, the old victorian. I finally got the paperwork through the town hall to purchase it. I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed the moving vans and repair men visiting the street, honestly.”  
You inwardly winced, embarrassed that you had called the poor guys new home spooky as fuck. He didn't seem to take it took hard, honestly seeming to find your phrasing amusing. You struggled to find a memory of seeing moving vans or even a single repair van, but shrugged it off. It wasn't like you were home much anyhow, and when you were you hardly peeked outside to see what was happening.  
“Sorry, I didn't realize you bought that house.” You apologized, rubbing at your arm meekly.  
“It's fine. The place is creepy, I get it. I just finally made it back to Derry after being gone for a while and decided I wanted it. So I bought it.” He shrugged, running a hand through his dark hair and pushing loose strands further back from his eyes, the style fitting him nicely.  
“Simple as that?” You asked, impressed.  
“Simple as that.” He gazed at you with those blue eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If I see you around more, you’ll find that if I want something, I usually end up getting it.”  
The statement itself was a little off putting, but his voice drew you in, velvety and smooth. You cleared your throat, choosing to laugh his words off.  
“Man, that's the type of confidence people pay out the ass for in therapy. Good on you. So, what do you do for work?”  
He looked amused you had taken his words so well, tilting his head to the side and reaching inside his jacket, procuring a packet of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”  
“Go ahead.” You nodded, still interested in what exactly this mysterious man did for work.  
He plucked a cigarette from the pack, taking a thick and heavy looking metal lighter from his pocket and lighting it with one flick. He sucked on the filter, shooting wisps of smoke out his nostrils and sighing contently while tucking the lighter and packet away.  
“God I missed these,” He muttered, blowing smoke out the side of his lips and looking back to you. “I’m part of a family business. Inherited a lot of money. I don't do much, I’ll be honest. Perks of being a rich brat, I guess.”  
“You’re telling me, new neighbour to neighbour, that out of all the places in the world a self proclaimed rich brat could live, you chose little old Derry?” You said in mild disbelief, snorting. “You don't seem to fit the small town mold.”  
“Neither do you,” He accused softly, pointing the cigarette at you. “You’re from the city, aren't you?”  
“Yeah.” You pulled the blanket closer, frowning. “Aren't you?”  
“I’m from all over. But I’ve always liked Derry the best. The best food in Maine, if you ask me.” Robert said with a chuckle, keeping an inside joke to himself it seemed. “Lots of things to try out.”  
“Well, restaurants aside, anything else you like about the town?”  
Robert took a long drag of his cigarette, the sweet smelling smoke wafting to you as you waved it aside with your hand. “I’ve always liked October. Lots of festivals, lots of cool halloween shit. There used to be a carnival that came through a few years ago.”  
“Auugh, carnivals.” You scrunched up your nose, looking uncomfortable to his surprise. “Carnivals mean clowns. Clowns are scary as all hell.”  
He sputtered a laugh, coughing very suddenly and spiraling into a fit of giggles. He slapped his knee, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand and descending into mere snickers. “Sorry, sorry.” He said through his fit, his shoulders shaking. “I just didn't peg you for a gal with Clownphobia.”  
“Coulrophobia.” you quickly corrected, scoffing. “And I don't have a phobia it's just... Clowns... You know. They’re creepy.”  
“Explain, because i find clowns rather delightful.” The dark haired man flicked ash to the porch floor, entertained evidently by this conversation.  
“You, my friend, are insane.” you pointed accusingly, feeling a bit of enjoyment from such joking banter with an almost stranger. You could get used to this, especially if you didn't have to put in an effort to block out his thoughts. There was surprise in the conversation, you didn't know what he had to say next, and it was an exciting change that you welcomed. “Clowns are creepy. They wear crazy face makeup, make children scream because they are freaking scary looking and they are always just too happy. Plus, who could trust a grown ass man who can make a balloon giraffe. That is just a weird as fuck hobby to have, you know?”  
“Sounds like someone didnt have a fun run in with Cirque du Soleil.” He quipped, grinning and stubbing the cigarette with the underside of his shoe.  
“I’ll have you know, I only cried a little bit when I met a clown for the first time, thanks.” You narrowed your eyes, hiding a smile. This Robert guy was easy to talk to, easy to get along with. You wondered suddenly how often you would end up seeing him the Derry… Hopefully a lot.  
“Oh, just a little.” He mocked, stuffing the butt into his jacket without a thought, pursing his lips and glancing up at the nighttime sky from under the awning of your porch. “Nice night out, you can see the stars.”  
You nodded in agreement, following his gaze to the twinkling lights above, narrowing your eyes in a comically amusing way and darkly whispering. “Aliens.”  
“A believer of the supernatural and aliens. How lucky am I to have such a quirky neighbour.” He drawled, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, sighing. “Did you hear about the murders?”  
You shifted uncomfortably, not excited to dwell on the gossip of the town. “Yeah. Horrible stuff.”  
“When I was younger, a bunch of kids disappeared and stuff in Derry. No one ever found out what happened to them.” He eyed you closely, eyes dancing with something dark and unknown.  
“Thats fucked up.” You said simply, scratching your arm.  
“It is.” He agreed, silence following his words.  
All there was between you two was a veil of static, one that you attempted to claw through with no luck. Despite how you wanted to hear him in the moment, understand why he twisted the conversation south to ‘FuckThatvile’ you just couldnt. You would have to get used to just guessing what his train of thought was, and maybe that would be difficult at some times.  
“I’m going to head home. Thanks for the company, [First Name].” He rose, long legged and towering over you. He casted you a considering look, eyeing you carefully and suddenly dropping any seriousness and offering you a handsome smile coupled with smoldering eyes. His wave was dismissive, hopping down your stairs as you met his wave with a confused look.  
“Uh, bye. See you around?”  
“You will.” He assured you, taking down your sidewalk and digging in his jacket before slowly fading down the street towards his home.  
‘Gone as quickly as he came.’ you thought, taking your phone out and shrugging.  
What an odd guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Number one, I'd like to personally thank TechnicalTurquoise, PennywiseTheDancingClown (nice), LoopDLulu and Trick for commenting, Y'all made my freaking week by doing this- no lie. Secondly, Thank you so much to 17passivelynervous, Monarcablu, JesusFreak4Life, ReimareBunneh, NikRach2, Lilbbuke, Ryuuchi Gamesy, and TwistedEmpathy for bookmarking this work because I wasnt expecting much from this story at all what so ever?? I would add all the kudos but here are so many of you I wouldnt know where to start?!? This seemed to blow up overnight, and honestly we all need some Jesus for wanting to fuck the demon clown so badly. Thanks again for showing your love for my work and stay tuned for more, because I've got a decently long story plotted out. Hope you enjoyed, my fellow sewer sinners.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Back! I dropped this story like a hot pizza but I was reminded by my friend who bought me a Pennywise Jesus candle for christmas to revisit this fic. I'm sorry I was gone so long, and I'm happy to say I'm back to spin some clownfucker tales for all of y'all to read.  
> Enjoy the chapter, I made it longer to make up for the lack of updates!

The dream, by all accounts, started off just fine. Nice sunny weather, soft green grass and a quiet walk along an unfamiliar canal bank. The waters were murky with algae and mud, but still pretty looking with patches of glittering surface from the warm sun's rays. Unlike most of your dreams where nothing made sense and you could easily go from bungee jumping off the Brooklyn bridge to having a tea party with Barack Obama in seconds, your dream stayed put at the canal, which should have been your first warning. 

You bent down, crouching on the balls of your feet in jeans and heavy green rain boots, running a hand through the waters and sending minnows running in every direction. The water was warm, the surface rippling at your touch and spreading throughout the water's surface before disappearing at a heavy patch of lily pads. There was a shift in the air, the atmosphere dropping while the clouds darkened and thickened overhead, the sun slowly hiding behind the heavy clouds that looked to be near bursting with rain. You retracted your hand, wiping wet fingers over the dry thighs of your jeans and glancing behind you, obviously confused at the sudden change in weather.

A wet rustling sound brought your attention back to the waterside and you watched in uncertainty as a shiny round red object began rising from a patch of lily pads mere feet from you, slowly creeping from the dark waters. It was a balloon, oddly enough. The balloon rose higher and higher, floating in place once it had reached just above your height, seeming to hold your attention in an uncomfortable trance.

“Do you like balloons, [First Name]?” Came a giddy voice just behind you, eerily close to your ear.

You whirled around, still crouched at the water's edge and letting your eyes go wide at the sight before you.

A man, much taller than any man should have dared to be, stood just behind you in what you could only describe as the most horrific clown outfit possible. It was old, dirty and worn with time, in some off grey color with accenting puffs of red dotting down the center of the ruffles the victorian age costume had. His forehead was transcending five-head and going straight to nine-head, way too large and caked with streaky white face paint, his lips and nose were painted scarlet with accenting lines drawn to go from the edges of his lips to just over his eyes. His hair was a startling orange color, styled wildly into three tresses and looking rough to the touch.

He watched you with amber eyes, a quiet sort of calculation behind them despite the childish grin that crossed his lips, a small blemish of buck teeth to be seen just under the top lip.

“So do-” He began, only to be immediately met with an interruption.

“No eyebrows.” came your word vomit, a look of horror crossed with muted awe. “You have no fucking eyebrows.”

He took a step forward, his grin splitting wider in an unnatural sort of way, too harsh and forced. “That's all you have to say? I have no eyebrows? How rude, [First Name].”

“You’re scary?” You offered, craning your neck up and gulping. You fumbled to stand, rounding to the clown’s right side and stepping away, arms raised.

“Aren't I? I think so.” He followed your movements, twisting his form to face you. “You’re scared of clowns, aren't you?”

“Is this a dream? Its gotta be a dream, fuck this.” you muttered to yourself, letting out a choked breath and feeling fear in your core like thousands of tiny needles stabbing painfully at every nerve in your body. “Fucking fuck- fucking fuck fucking  _ clowns _ .” 

So much of you wanted to run, run far and fast. But something else held you still, keeping you grounded. You heard little whispers tickle your ears, all of their quiet voices assuring you that you were safe despite your predicament. 

‘ _ No harm to you _ .’

‘ _ Stand your ground. _ ’

“Clown. Singular.” The clown corrected with an air of superiority while interrupting the voices, holding his arm out as the red balloon floated to him. “Just ol’ Pennywise.”

“What the fuck?” You fought to keep your calm - or what was left of it anyhow -, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

‘ _ Dont run. Keep calm. Safe. You are safe.’  _ The voices called, echoing from nowhere yet everywhere at once.

“Thats me. Pennywise, The Dancing Clown!” The clown practically sang, prancing up to you after snatching his balloon and closing your distance. He was inches from you, looming above with something crooked in his too-wide eyes and a thin glisten of droll over his bottom lip. “I’m Pennywise, but of course, you can call me what you like. Penny. Penn. Whatever ya want, [First Name].”

There was silence between the two of you as your heart hammered in your chest, blood rushing through your ears and making the world sound only of a static hum. The grin slowly disappeared, eyes rolling skyward with a disinterested grunt pulled from his red lips, and suddenly the clown had a much more… Human feel to him. 

“You don't even have the decency to scream. This is no fun.” He grumbled, taking the balloon and thrusting it out to you. “Take it.” 

With trembling fingers you took the balloon by its strings, shuffling back with a guarded stance. He scratched at his chin in a pensive manner, gaze keeping you still while he seemed to take to his thoughts for a moment.

“This is a weird nightmare…” you managed to say between shaky breaths, eyes leaving the shiny exterior of the balloon and returning to the clown, who scoffed.

“You’re a curious gal. Most would have run for the hills after seeing me.” he tapped gloved fingers to his chin, watching you intently. “Especially if they had a fear of clowns.”

You fought for a calm expression. “Oh. I’m scared. I’m just… I don't need to run?”

“Don't you though?” He taunted, tilting his head and narrowing those amber eyes. “Why would you think you were safe with me, a clown?”

‘ _ Friends… you can be friends… Allies… _ ’

“We can be friends.” You blurted, copying what the whispers eagerly advised you.

You regretted the words instantaneously, revulsion rippling through you at the thought of even seeing the clown again. But this was a dream. Just a dream. All of this would be over once you woke.

‘God. Wake up.’ you begged yourself inwardly, biting your tongue to keep from saying it aloud.

“Oh hoh. Friends?” Pennywise seemed to savor the word, running what looked to be a forked tongue over the bottoms of the top row of his teeth. “Oh, [First Name]. I think I would like that.”

You flinched as a hand reached out, taking a harsh grip to your jaw and tugging you closer. The two of you were too close, barely an inch between you, and he forced you to tilt your head high to gaze up at his impressive height. It was then that it hit you. His smell.

It was thousands of things. Wet cement after a day’s rain, soft smoke from a crackling campfire, a tart but tangy reek of copper you knew was a mask for blood just to name a few. He expelled unfiltered power, an obvious age to his existence that you could only just begin to taste with your muted senses. He smelt of rot too. He smelt of something dark and horrible that you couldn't even begin to fathom.

“Do you sense it?” He asked with a tilt of his lips. “Maybe smell it? I smell it on you, little human.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself at a loss for words. Your eyes searched his own, questioning already what you had offered the clown.

“Oh yes…” Pennywise purred, leaning forward and inhaling deeply, pressing his painted nose to your temple. “You’re a special girl, aren't you?”

Suppressing a shudder, you stayed still, heart thudding against your ribcage and threatening to leap from your chest. “W...What do you smell?”

He brushed gloved fingertips across the line of your jaw, a chuckle coming from those red lips. “Power.”

The balloon popped, shattering into what seemed to be thousands of rubber pieces, your vision dotting with dark spots while a pull in your gut made your stomach twist and dip. All you heard was a raspy laugh and the dream went dark, fading from you completely.

 

 

You woke, curled under heaps of blankets and breathing unevenly and rapidly. Your thin pajamas were sticky with sweat, hair messy and knotted from tossing and turning. You felt gross, terrified, and above all else, disturbed.

“What the fuck…” You muttered, pushing up from the sweltering heat of your bed and tossing the covers off yourself. You cradled your aching head in clammy hands, nausea wracking your poor insides and making the room spin.

“Ugh.” Your groan echoed through the bedroom as you slowly slipped from bed, knowing a shower was in your future.

Thank god it was your day off.

You stumbled downstairs to the bathroom, shivering at the chill your home expelled and carelessly peeling your clothes off to drop them uselessly to the tile floor. The light coming through the warbled and warped glass window was soft and bright, indicating it was late morning time. Turning the knobs to pour cold water out the shower head, you mentally reminded yourself that you needed to head to the store and shop.

The water felt amazing against your scorching skin, ebbing the ache in your shoulders and stomach away gently and easily. You combed the water through the wet locks of your hair, running shampoo through and sighing as you slowly added heat to warm the water up.

You deserved this moment of peace, especially after the fucked up nightmare from the night before.

You shuddered, scrubbing impatiently at your arms with a loofa loaded with body wash and curling your lip in disgust.

Clowns.

Fucking clowns.

When had been your first incident with a clown? You weren't too sure, there had been plenty of odd instances of you running into the creepy sons of bitches. Halloween had always been the worst time of the year for you when it came to clowns. Everyone and their mother dressed up as a scary clown, haunted houses would even have rooms and attractions dedicated to the honking spawns of satan.

Clowns had chased you, jeered at you and, well, existed. That was enough to trigger you, for sure. There was no conceivable reason for a normal person to waltz up to someone dressed head to toe in vibrantly colorful ruffles with a fake flower and cakey grease paint slathered across their stupid faces. How could that make someone happy? Clowns were creepy, and that was the end of that.

You left the shower wrapped up in a towel, brushing your teeth hastily and leaving the door open as you left to let the steam leave the room. You were still dripping, but not terribly so, and easily maneuvered the stairs back to your bedroom.

You would forget the clown dream. It wasn't important, and it was just nerves. Stress. Yes, stress. Nothing else. There was no significance to the dream whatsoever… Right?

* * *

 

Human skin, despite being his safest bet while he scoured Derry for his first meal was the most practical of his appearances. He reminded himself this as he stuck yet another cigarette between full lips and sucked on the filter, its end lighting on its own. He knew this, he wasn't an imbecile, but the form was oh so...Itchy.

He grew too hot all too easily, too cold very suddenly, and the sensation of gooseflesh left him feeling miserable as he stalked down lightly trafficked streets towards the local grocery store. The streets smelt metallic and sour, decomposing leaves scattered across the sidewalk meeting the heavy exhaust pumping from battered old cars, the overly sweet spiced coffees sold in shops coexisted with greasy savory diner food only making the harsh smells worse and causing his lips to curl as he reached outside the physical world to guard himself from the strange and unsettling scents. 

A sweep of his power, and the disgusting smells were washed away, his focus pairing with those he passed on the streets.

It was fall, that much was obvious from the the brightly colored leaves, the colorful and child friendly decorations of scarecrows and mummys hanging about the town, as well as the flyers that whipped in the maine wind, advertising pumpkin patches, halloween parties, and of course- The fall carnival.

He had snatched the advertisement, stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans, and continued to walk. A Carnival. It was almost too good to be true. His luck hadn’t changed in the last few decades, it seemed. The children would be easy pickings indeed.

Smoke curled from his lips as he parted them, eyes wondering to the pedestrians that passed him by without a care in the world. Men, dressed for work barely spared him a glance, but the women busying themselves with their daily chores or out for a morning jog, tended to rest their eyes on him for a fraction of a second too long.

Hair whipped in the breeze as necks turned, and despite his normal aversion of such older humans, he had to admit- It did nudge his ego a bit to see a starved look behind a weak little snacks eyes. Maybe this time around he would take one to his den and sasiate some of this other needs before he fed. He could taint them, like had had many others before. Those children from his previous visit to Derry had been a spectacle, his powers spreading thin over his attempts to keep them under his thumb. Was it possible that could happen again? With the waitress, perhaps?

Having gone nose blind with his running thoughts, he barely registered a whiff of familiarity in the air. His eyes left those who begged for his attention, and he searched with predatory stare across the streets of Derry of the scents owner.

And there _ she _ went, emerging out from a well loved and taken care of truck. With bags tucked gently under her arm, he watched while standing by a telephone pole as the waitress and his new neighbour strode without a care across a miniscule parking lot into the town’s grocery store.

Vaguely, he recalled he had been on his own way to the store, but for no convincible reason. He didn't need to eat things the flesh sacks did- no amount of cheez-its, baked bread or Dunkaroos would still his hunger.

Wait.

Dunkaroos. 

Dunkaroos could help at least, right?

He narrowed his dark stare, and walked across the street, taking a drag of his cigarette. He would grab some more smokes too, maybe some alcohol. These vices were unneeded, just like sex, he reminded himself, but they sure made his yearly stay in the human realm mighty enjoyable.

He could mull about the store, keeping a careful eye on the waitress as well. She had grabbed his interest, as much as he hated to admit. When he arrived at the diner, a day before, she had been  pleasantly...Empty.

Empty of thoughts, that is. No emotions wafted off of her like a fine perfume akin to the rest of her race, and oh, did it intrigue him so. But how could he not press into her mind like he could with the hostess that seated him just moment before?

Was she a telepath? Perhaps she was a user of the gift. But was it  _ the gift _ ? Perhaps just  _ a _ gift.

He ran a slick tongue over his dull teeth, flicking the stub of his cigarette to the wet parking lot floor as he cleared it, stalking past automatic glass and allowing his mind to wander.

Was she going to cross his path more often? Would she be a problem? Would he have to take care of her?

He didn’t want to make the same mistake as he did during his last run-in with gifted children. No. He needed to be more mindful this time.

Tugging out an arm basket, he strode across linoleum tiles, shoulders straight and posture unwisely guarded.

The cigarettes were an easy find, and it took no trouble to locate the vast stock of alcohol the store provided for its townspeople. When those items were placed in his basket, he allowed himself to use the waitresses, [First Name]’s, scent to locate her.

He found her looming above plastic wrapped meats, a mild look of disgust crossing her strained features.

He hesitated, wondering if maybe he was wrong to assume she was anything but a normal human woman. So, he reached across the void, allowing a shift in the air and through the physical plane the two of you stood in to wrap just momentarily so he could taste her.

Tasting wasn't as it sounded. It wasn’t as if he was just pressing a theoretical tongue to her cheek, or the air that surrounded her, but it was him voluntarily dropping his guard to dip into her essence. Her being. The construction of her cells, the binding of her memories and stitched together fragments of the human as this realm’s creation.

He felt betrayed, instantly.

Something trailed through her scent, her blood and her existence that he couldn't place and that… That infuriated him.

He had tasted telepaths, he had taken those with The Shine to meet the deadlights, and he had experienced the mouthwatering rivers of a once worrisome humans blood on his lips countless times.

But her?

He had never tasted something as jarringly intoxicating as her.

He wondered idly if she had started to feel the effects of his power, since she had stupidly locked gazes when they first interacted. Had he manifested to her in anyway yet? He hoped he had within the hours they had been parted. It would assist in his growing attempts to delve deeper into the mystery that was the waitress, [First Name].

Collecting his thoughts, the eldritch being drove a shudder from his back and grinded his teeth.

“Oh. Special girl. You fool.” He murmured, running a hand through his dark tresses before stepping forward, a glint in his eye and a smirk at his lips.

* * *

 

You had no appetite when you arrived to the grocery store, making the food you passed by while leaning against your shopping cart that much less interesting. You threw in what you knew you needed, more milk, some cheese and a couple random veggies to even out the junk food you knew would end up in the cart by the time you hit the check out. Nothing spoke to you necessarily, your mind wandering back to the damn clown from your nightmare. Pennywise The Dancing Clown. What a ridiculous name, even for you to imagine up.

You shook your head, parking your cart by the meat section and walking to the heaps of plastic wrapped packages of various meats. You poked a particularly bloody packet of cubed beef, feeling grossed out by the chilly and squishy feeling just under the protective layer of plastic. Maybe you should go vegetarian, it wasn't like you made meat often anyhow. Since moving to Derry and way from the skilled culinary hands of your father, it never seemed to taste right, no matter how fresh you acquired it. You guessed that you were just made to stick to veggies and to avoid meat. Sometimes it was just like that, you supposed. 

“What are you planning to make with that?”

Startled, your hand flew to your chest and you muffled a cry of surprise by biting hard on your tongue.

“Jesus fucking christ.” You seethed, snapping your head to the side to see the ever so smug expression of your latest and seemingly most friendly neighbour, Robert Gray. “Try to give a girl a warning, would you?”

“Sheesh. Calm down, I thought I was being friendly.” Robert said in his defense, smiling anyhow and giving a small snort of a laugh. “Shit, you look upset. What happened to you?”

“Didn't sleep well last night.” You picked the cubed beef up, making a face at the packaging but taking it to your cart anyhow, the lean figure of Robert right behind you. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi.” The man chirped, his eyes carrying a deeply curious look that you care less to decipher. “Sorry to hear you had a nightmare.”

“It happens. Probably because you mentioned clowns last night. Had a nightmare about a clown, of course. Of all things.” You shot him an indignant look, pushing your cart on and already deciding to let the handsome man keep you company, you needed someone to talk to anyhow, to come back to reality and leave clown nightmares behind you.

“I don't see the problem with clowns. Aren't they supposed to make people happy?” Robert fell in step beside you, his arm basket curiously only filled with a bottle of alcohol and a few packs of cigarettes.

You scoffed, turning down the baking aisle and staring uselessly down the rows upon rows of boxed mixes. 

“Not since John Wayne Gacy, buddy.”

Robert nodded, shrugging a shoulder. “Mm. Fair.” He glanced at the boxed mixes, taking a Betty Crocker brownie mix off the shelf and dropping it in your cart. “You look like you need it.” He added with a wink when you shot him a quizzical look.

You didn't make an effort to take it out, accepting the box without question. Down the aisle a cart suddenly turned in, a frequent patron of the diner pushing her nearly overflowing cart towards the two of you with a bored expression. However, when she noticed the pair of you walking along side another and speaking, she slowed and tried to hide her obvious interest.

Robert noticed her too, his eyes finding you as if to wordlessly ask ‘Should I go?’. You offered a smile, trying to appear openly friendly despite the exhaustion that pulled at the simple gesture.

“So how are you liking Derry?” You asked, gliding past the woman who turned her nose up at you, having been caught in her attempt to snoop. “Everything you remember and more?”

“Close enough.” He hummed, eyeing the woman as you strode past her. “Found a new face or two, like yourself. People in Derry are friendly enough.”

“Aw, shucks.” You drawled jokingly, sighing while you turned down the snack aisle. “I hope you can consider me a friend, Robert. You seem cool.”

“I’m a complete stranger.” Robert said, snatching a small bag of funyuns off the rack. 

“You can't make friends with someone you already know.” You chided, standing on your tiptoes and reaching for a bag of chips. Robert’s nimble fingers pinched the plastic, plucking it off the shelf and dropping it in your waiting hands.

He caught your eyes, drawing back but holding your gaze steadily. His lips quirked into a smirk as he scratched at his chin. “Yeah. Friends sounds fine. I could use one this time around.”

“Oh? Did you cause some trouble in Derry in your youth?” You tossed the bag in your cart, leaning against the handle and slowly walking toward the other end. “You did kind of give me the bad boy vibe, i’ll be honest.”

“I'm honored to meet your expectations.” He said with heavy sarcasm, sliding a hand through his dark locks and watching you closely. “I guess you could say I got into some trouble back in the day. Nothing to worry about now, though. Completely different era, if you will.”

“I’ll make sure that if I make a mix cd for you that Cascada is first on the lineup.”

He stifled a laugh, rubbing at his jaw and sighing heavily. “You’re a quirky one, [First Name]. I’ll give you that. I like it.”

“I’m honored.” You mocked, grabbing a packet of oreos and lazily pushing the cart further. “So, tell me. What are you going to do while you’re in Derry? You bought a home, so I suppose you’re living here for now. Any hobbies? Favorite tv shows? Come on, give me something to work with.”

“Trying to humanize the mystery man, I assume?”

“Yep.” You admitted, dropping the oreos in the cart and sighing. “So, are you a fan of anything?”

Robert clicked his tongue, sighing through his nose. “Horror movies are cool.”

“That's it?” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Just horror movies? You don't do anything like collect crazy antiques? Maybe moonlight as an uber driver?”

“I told you, I’m some boring rich brat with too much time on his hands.” The man ran a hand through his hair again, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Nothing much else to me.”

“Boo, don't hold back from me.” You prodded, craning your neck to look up at him with a frown.

Robert considered you for a moment, something swimming behind his bright eyes. “Do you not have any other friends, I'm honestly curious now. We met yesterday and you’re sticking to me like gum.”

You scoffed, mildly insulted despite his joking tone. “I have friends. Don’t you?”

“No.” He flashed a smirk. “See how easy that was to admit?”

With a roll of your eyes you turned down towards the checkout center.

“Are you excited for the fall carnival?”

You snorted, lazily turning up your gaze to your neighbour. “No. I already helped set up the summer carnival, I’m not looking forward to the next one.”

Deep hues of blue met your own, a flash of something mischievous beyond Robert’s gaze. “Afraid of clowns that much?”

“You have no idea.” You nodded in confirmation. “I have maybe twelve horror stories from personal experience of terrifying creatures that lurk behind the guise of terrible face paint and make balloon animals.”

“Hilarious.” With a roll of his eyes, you noticed a strange smirk stitched to his lips, as if he was relaying an inside joke within his mind. You shifted uncomfortably, sensing something beyond his jestering expression. 

“Well this has been fun, Robert. But I need to head home before I pile in all the stores halloween candy in my cart and cause an uproar within the Derry community. See you around!” 

You began to push your cart away with a small wave, only to have it grabbed and tugged back a moment later. You glance back to the taller man, eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Where are the Dunkaroos, do you know?” He seemed a tad too eager and you barked a quick laugh.

“Dude, Dunkaroos were discontinued in like, 2012. You’re five years too late. Sorry.”

He closed his eyes, mouth in a straight line and heavily sighed. “For fucks sake.” You heard him say softly in his dismay.

You patted the hand that held onto your cart, flinching at the sudden jolt of electricity that shot through you at the gesture. His eyes snapped open in time with the sensation, but you brushed it off, pushing your cart away as he snatched his hand back in a rush. “Pinterest has a dunkaroos icing hack, apparently. Start there, neighbour.”

He said nothing else in response to your parting advice, and you hurried away, cheeks reddening from such a simple touch.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He strolled up beside the rusty fence of his home, past the gates and stepping without care through the overgrowth that trickled over his sidewalk and found himself at his front door. He had pried the boards off when he arrived days before, and now he jutted his chin forward, the door throwing itself open in welcome.

“No fucking dunkaroos?” He muttered, stepping inside his lovely home and letting the door slam behind him with a great creak of it's hinges. The home itself rattled uneasily from the force, making the creature’s frown deepen. “Humans get one thing right,  _ one thing _ , and they discontinue it. Brilliant.”

The plastic bag hooked under his arm rustled while he walked about the halls, surveying the decay and age his home had gathered over the years, decades really, of abandonment. Broken windows, warped floors, and dry rot was evident. He rested a hand of his against the doorframe of the parlor room, eyes flickering to and from each problem the home evidently had. No wealthy bachelor would live in squalor, a soul sucking clown from an alternate universe would sure, but not Robert Gray. He rolled his neck, cracking the stress from his bones with satisfying pops, trailing his finger tips down the door frame.

Slowly, color began to flow through the wallpaper and the dry rot stripped itself to be replaced with its original properties, looking brand new. The room came together, age and decay erasing itself until before him sat a perfectly in order parlor room- although the style still resumed something close to the early nineteen twenties style but that was all fine and well with the creature. The twenties and early nineteen ten’s had been rather interesting indeed, and the style was welcome.

Satisfied with the outcome, he spun on his heels, digging into the plastic bag and removing the bottle of brandy he had “bought” from the store. The wax seal at the top came off easily, as well as the cork, and he began to down the vile drink as soon as the rich earthy scent hit his senses. It burned pleasantly going down and he hummed at the taste, his free hand dragging across the walls of his home as he roamed about the space, preparing it accordingly.

The waitress had officially piqued his interest, and he wasn’t sure if it would  be all sunshine and rainbows for the human as his stay in Derry carried on for his year of feasting. It could be fun, he reasoned, smacking his lips as he corked his drink, noting that he had drank near a third of the bottle so quickly.

It could be devilishly fun to fool the girl. To pop up unexpectedly, maybe to taunt her a little bit. Of course, he would do this dressed as Pennywise, not Robert. No, he had different plans for Robert this time around.

Reaching the kitchen, he ignored the groans of the house from the glamour he applied to the fixtures and countertop, dropping his grocery bag on the marble surface of the kitchen island and leaning his lean form against its stable edge.

She was a telepath, that much he was sure of. He had guessed that from the beginning, and the steady thrum of her barriers that she struggled to keep intact as she lived her life were easy enough to pick up while he had visited with her at the grocery store. So a telepath, in Derry of all places. A New one too, fresh from the outside, a city girl. He wished he could have learned more about her, but during their three meetings, he hadn’t been able to slip past her mental walls and sort through her thoughts.

This frustrated him, insanely so. He might not have been at full power, but he should have been strong enough to dip into a mere human’s mind. It was child's play to him really, as was the glamour and reconstruction of his home.

He counted back on the days since he had arrived. Two. 

Tomorrow, on his third day, he would surely be at, or close, to full power. He could feel it now, submerged deep in him and lazily breaking its seal to allow a steady stream of power flow through him. He flexed human hands, staring down at the fingerprints, the lines crossing his palms and the thin fingernails of Robert Gray’s form. Soon, those nails would lengthen and shred into human flesh, he would hear the strangled cries of a horrified child, and finally… Finally after nearly thirty years of starvation, he would feed.

A pur rumbled through his chest, a wet tongue rolling across the back of his teeth as he felt that familiar primal urge surface in him. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled deeply. Past the house he resided in, he sensed and tasted the youth dotting Derry’s population, his mouth watering in excitement.

Which one would it be this time? Who would be his first victim of the feast? Oh, he could hardly wait. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

You stood by your bed, clothed in a comfy pair of thin pajama pants and tank top with a pillow tucked under your arm. You shifted uneasily, knowing your bed wasn’t to blame from the days early nightmare, but still apprehensive just the same.

You stood still a moment longer, then gave a heavy sigh and padded closer to your bed.

“Ridiculous.” you chastised yourself, shaking your head and flopping down on your mattress, craning your neck to glance at the time, the wall clock’s hands assuring you that it was a quarter past ten. You leaned across the nightstand, flipping the lamp that sat on its surface off before settling under your heaps of blankets.

Your alarm would wake you in time for a quick breakfast, no shoving dry cereal in your mouth this time, and you rolled on your side letting a soft breath leave you before you began to drift off the sleep, hoping to dream of something sweeter than a clown or red balloons.

  
  


Rushing water, soft splashes and the ambient scattering of rats was all you heard at first while you traversed dark tunnels. The smell was sulfuric, musty and reeking of rot. But still you trudged on, the green rain boots you wore thankfully covered your jeans from the muck and grime, but the thin windbreaker you hugged close to your body did little to keep the cold of the passageways from chilling you to the bone.

Despite the absence of light, you found it easy to navigate the tunnels, kicking up dirty leaves and skittering rocks across the surface of the grey water while you strolled about. This was creepy, sure, but not nearly as panic inducing as the clown dream you reasoned with a frown, taking a sharp left and sighing loudly.

Was this it? Were you going to traverse the tunnels of what you could only guess were the sewers? This was the entire dream?

You rolled your eyes, huffing and finding yourself on an incline, stepping into a metal and concrete alcove where the sounds of the sewers left you and silence was all you heard.

You came to a slow stop near the middle of the small room, the only path forward a few feet from you with a wide and heavy looking circular door left ajar. Beyond the door you couldn't see much, but there seemed to be a dimmer light beyond the exit which resembled moonlight, and it nabbed your attention. You walked with light steps to the door, pushing it open without a care, waltzing into the room with wandering eyes.

You made it maybe a few feet into the vast expanse of the room before you froze, your sights resting on the oddities before you.

Toys, with colors rubbed away and parts missing or absolutely broken beyond recognition where strewn about the ground. Hundreds, maybe thousands, there perched in a steep pile a top a dilapidated and rotted boxed stage sat that had an unnerving title and caricature painted across its wooden surface.

Pennywise The Dancing Clown stared back at you with dimpled cheeks and bloody lips, his visage chipped away by years of age, and as you creeped closure, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Puddles riddled the dirt floor, moonlight from a wide grate above the vast sewer cave sparkled in the eyes of dolls that lifelessly stared at you while your curiosity was satisfied.

The stage door was clumsily pinned open, making a quick observation a breeze. There was nothing of interest inside however, just a cheap and moldy mattress flattened against a wall with matted and knotted blankets heaped on its surface. You turned to look elsewhere, but a something caught your eye as you edged closer. There were scraps of cloth on the floor, and something that, upon further inspection as you stepped inside, appeared to be bones. Not animal bones, you knew better, but surely human remains.

You didn't have time to react, because before you could back out of the structure, you heard a scream.

It was shrill, and its echo that bounced off concrete walls made your stomach dip. Shrieks followed, the sounds trailing closer and closer to the sewer dwelling. Frantically you attempted an escape, making it to the edge of the stage before realizing you had come from the only visible entrance and exit to the room, and dread filled you when you fixated on how the screams echoed from its mouth.

Fuck.

The door you had pushed open only slightly to allow your entrance was thrown open with a fearsome amount of force, slamming into the concrete wall it was attached to to allow a creature to emerge.

He was inhumanly tall still, and where his dirty costume had been splattered with mud and grime before, it was painted red now. Despite the paleness of his features and the crimson of his makeup, he still seemed human, with amber eyes that positively glowed as he stalked inside the room like a sleek jungle predator.

Pennywise.

Those eyes raked across the lair, right over you as if you were invisible to the creature before flickering to the human hanging off the clown’s shoulder.

“So, playtime Trevor?” The clown sang his question, peeling the now sobbing boy off his body with a grip tight against the nape of his neck.

He held the boy up high, moonlight bathing his features and contorting his already sly grin into something deranged and starving. The young boy, who couldn't have been more than ten years old struggled in vain, sputtering has he gasped for breath through his incessant sobbing.

With a start, you recognized the young boy in the clown’s grasp. Trevor McDonald, he was a fourth grader whose mother had recently brought him in for dinner a few week prior. You had seen him a handful of times before that as well, but for the most part, you know this child. 

You balled your fists, and urged yourself forward to no avail. You couldn't move, your body instead trembled.

“No, ple-please. Please I’m sorry-” Trevor sobbed, kicking and reeling back from the gleeful clown who keep him airborne.

“Sorry doesn't cut it, bud.” Pennywise cackled and he threw his head back, a forked and pale tongue slithering from his lips as the unthinkable happened.

The corners of his mouth split wide open, unstitching from his painted skin and muscles unfurling to show rows upon rows of sharp needle like incisors. His jaw unhinged, opening further and parting for the awaited meal.

Trevor went white, rigid in the clown’s hold as tears poured freely down his cheeks. A light emanated from the creature’s droll ridden maw, golden and glowing, but you couldn't make sense of it before the child was ruthlessly thrust into his carnivorous mouth. The sounds to follow made the air leave your lungs, sickening crunches and slick wet pops met the pained yelps and raw screams of Trevor as he was devoured before your eyes.

When it was done, with Pennywise’s mouth regaining a somewhat corporeal look and he was licking his clawed hands clean from the sticky red blood Trevor had left on his body, he swept his gaze across the room again. This time, his eyes caught and lingered on the stage, on to you.

He closed in in a flash, breathing hot breath inches from your face has amber hues searched the contents of the stage.

They narrowed to slits, his forked tongue coming out again to lap at the blood splattered across his chin while he thoughtfully cocked his head to the side.

“Are you in here?” He asked, his voice lilting and pitched too high in a playful manner. “I can’t smell you...I can’t see you...”

You held your breath, nails digging into your palms, waiting for his next move.

“Mmm, I can feel you though, special girl.” He hummed, reaching out with his talons and feeling the air beside you, too close to touching you for your comfort. “Did you enjoy the show?”

He waited, as if expecting you to answer. When you did not he straightened his hunched over form, stretching and letting a satisfied pur leave him.

“Wish I could see you, sweetheart.” He commented with a light tone, with his amber gaze finally resting on you. Instead of wandering around like they had before, they stayed put, glued to you.

With a vicious smirk, he lurched forward and cocked his head to the side. “Because I would love to see your expression right now.”

* * *

You woke, throwing yourself off the warmth of your mattress and dropping to the floor like a rock. You feverishly snapped your head around the room, waiting for the clown to pop out from nowhere. Heavy breaths left you, your body buzzing with adrenaline, which you ignored as you shakily rose from the crumpled pile of blankets you had taken to the floor with you.

“Fucking Clowns.” You swore, picking up and tossing the blankets back on the bed, early morning light from your bedroom windows easing the dread still coiled in your stomach.

You took your phone from the nightstand, making a face at the time. You had woken up barely ten minutes from your alarm. There was no use heading back to bed, and with a tired groan you stalked off to downstairs, deciding that the nightmare deserved yet another morning shower.

What a wonderful start to a soon to be shitty day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would update, considering that January 9th was the release of the IT dvd!! I bought mine, did y'all do the same?  
> Dream sequence, yet again. Dont worry, the Reader and Pennywise will be seeing more of each other- whether as Robert or the clown, I ain't saying. Next chapter will e coming out again soon. Stay tuned,  
> however, thanks so much to those of you who like my Human!Pennywise (Robert Gray)!!! I wasnt expecting a lot of good feed back honestly, because I've categorized him to be like, that sly vicious bad boy that draws people in. Bonus, he does actually enjoy horror movies, likes a lot of 80's content, and smokes and drinks enough to put an entire town in a hospital. He's a "man" of many vices, easily threatens and is grossly possessive.  
> Btw, considering the fact that Pennywise is technically an alien/ethereal/eldritch being, I'll be conveniently allowing him to conjure up many things throughout this fic. This will include money (somuchmoney), cigarettes and in some cases, human food (dunkaroos).  
> On another note, why do I do adamantly repeat Dunkaroos? Because I tried to think of the most 80's/90's thing for Pennywise to crave that was human food and it was either Dunkaroos or Chef Boyardee canned ravioli. You need a lil humor in a dark fic like this one will be, lmao.  
> THANKS FOR READING!!!


	5. Chapter 5

You leaned your weight heavily against the shut door of your truck, absently munching on a breakfast burrito the cook, Adam, had lovingly handed to you on your way out for your break. You had needed it desperately, because the sheer effort of mentally muzzling the crowds of the diner had left you starved and wildly overstimulated. You still had an hour of your shift left, which meant you’d be walking back into the den of the lions before long and even the promise of a night on the couch or snuggled in bed with your laptop left you with little to be excited about.

The second the crowds started trickling in for the morning shift you heard about it. Trevor Mcdonald’s disappearance was all over the local news, and his name was mentioned in nearly every conversation you overheard while waiting tables. It was like the Ebcock murder-suicide all over again, except this time it was worse. This time, you had seen what happened to the poor kid. 

Or did you? Demon clowns that ate children were only stuff of nightmares, your nightmares sure, but it was still impossible for your dream to be true. Probably a ill omen, you were telepathic for god's sake, having a dream about a missing kid wasn't the weirdest thing to happen to you. Right? Right.

You made a face, disturbed by your own thoughts.

Were you just going to ignore the nightmare?

Yep. You sure as fucking hell were.

There was no way in hell you were going to touch this. Demon Clown dreams involving child murder or not, you weren’t going to be of any use if you ran to the police and confessed your ‘dream’. They’d laugh, number one, followed by probably sending you to the closest looney bin and strap you to a chair for some intense electric shock therapy.

You stuffed the last of your burrito into your mouth unceremoniously, patting your hands on your pants as you chewed the mouthful of food and pushing yourself off from the truck.

“You should see your expression right now. Golden.” Came a voice to your right.

You choked in surprise, chewing fast and swallowing in the nick of time, rubbing your mouth furiously and whipping your head to the side to see Robert, perched alongside your truck with a cheshire-like grin on his full lips and a cigarette between his fingers.

“Didn’t I say give me a warning? You’re like a damn ghost, poppin’ up out of nowhere.” You snapped, the wear of the day evident from your tone.

“Boo.” He said slyly, taking the cigarette to his lips and taking a short puff. The smoke, sweet smelling and becoming a token cologne of the mystery man, seeped from his mouth as he spoke again. “The blonde hostess told me you were on break. I came by for lunch and to say hello.”

“Well hello to you too, Bobert.” You scratched awkwardly at your neck, still in the diner uniform despite the windbreaker that you had thrown over your shoulders to keep some of the fall chill away.

Full lips quirked into a half smile. “Bobert?” He repeated in amusement.

“Bobert.” You said, nodding. “Your new nickname when you annoy me. Scaring the living daylights out of me counts as annoying me.”

You pointed with your chin to the back door. “I’m heading back inside. Tell Jessica, the blonde, to seat you at table eight. Thats in my section.”

“Can I smoke inside?” Robert flicked cigarette ash to the ground, peeling himself from the truck and strolling to come beside you.

You had encountered him several times now, and still, you were shocked by his height. You felt dwarfed by him, like he was purposefully using his height to intimidate you. His burning stare did little to make you think he was doing otherwise, nor did the tilt of his lips and the careful squaring of his shoulders.

“Of course you can you hounddog! It’s 1956, Eisenhower is still president!” You mocked, waiting for him to laugh.

When he didn’t, you hesitantly raised an eyebrow. “It’s from the vine…?”

Robert chose to roll his eyes, taking a heavy drag before dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, passing you and letting the smoke billow from his mouth. “See ya inside, Pipsqueak.”

“Pipsqueak?” You frowned, watching as he turned briefly to shoot you a teasing look.

“It’s your nickname, for when you annoy me.” He called over his shoulder, laughing when your cheeks burned and when he turned the corner of the building to enter from the front, you snorted a laugh yourself.

You shook off the windbreaker, heading inside through the back door and tossing it on a coat rack by the door, smoothing down your uniform. You made your way past the cooks, giving Adam a thankful smile, and pausing by the serving counter when you noticed the back of a particularly unfavorable coworker.

He turned, noticing you and offering a sleazy kind of smile to you before picking a hot plate off the counter and nodding in your direction.

“Back from break, babe?”

You resisted the urge to clobber him with a metal serving tray, rolling your eyes and passing by him with a huff. “Bite me, Vegas.”

“Mm, tantalizing offer, but I’m on the clock, Babe.”

Vegas fell in step with you, branching away just as he reached his table but not before casting you a heavy gaze and sending an overwhelming aura of lust. Gross.

You turned your nose up, ignoring his actions and stepping over to Jessica’s hostess bar.

“I’ve seated a guy at table eight, and there is a couple at table six now.” Jessica nodded at the far end of the diner, where Robert sat, facing towards the two of you and drumming his fingers on the table. He wasn’t sparing a glance in your direction, however, but focusing his attention to Vegas, who gave charismatic smiles to his customers and offered an elderly couple refills on their sweet tea.

“He’s cute, this is like, the second time he’s come in this week. He asked to be sat in your section, do you know him?”

You merely shrugged. “He’s my neighbour, and new in town.” You pulled your pen and pad of paper out from your apron, glancing back to the man. “His name is Robert.”

“Boring name, cute face.” Jessica wagged her eyebrows and you resisted the urge to laugh, patting her arm in silent farewell and then pulling away to greet your new customers.

You visited the couple first, finding them to be emitting a more tense and thin atmosphere, which made their order taking interesting to say the least.

The woman, who flipped her hair over her shoulder when you approached, set her eyes on you reproachfully.

“Hi, welcome to-”

“I want ice water with lemon.” she interrupted, the man across from her seeming visibly embarrassed by her rudeness.

To compensate he shifted in his booth seat, flipping the menu over in his hands. “I’ll have a glass of coke, please.”

“...Sure,” You jotted down their drinks, looking between them and stepping back. “I’ll get those right out for you.”

The woman’s eyes followed you to Robert’s booth, where you clicked your tongue and looked down at him.

“What would you like today, Bobert?” You quipped, adding a hefty dose of sarcasm to assure him you were teasing and meant no offense.

“A coke.” He said simply, pausing in the drumming of his fingers to spare you a glance. “And an order of onion rings. When are you off?”

“At three.” You wrote is order down, slipping the seemingly untouched menu from the surface of the table and tucking it under your arm. “Why?”

“I was curious, is all.” He assured you, pausing to smirk. “Why? Hoping I’d ask you out so soon? How scandalous. We barely know each other, [First Name].”

“It is you who is the scandalous one, assuming I’d want to be asked out, Mr. Gray.” You chidded with a smirk of your own.

His eyes flashed playfully, enjoying your banter. “The carnival is soon,” He began, only to be interrupted by Vegas, who appeared like magic at your side.

“[First Name],” His big brown eyes switched from resting on you to finding Robert, who seemed less than thrilled to have been interrupted. “Can you cover table two for me? They have kids.”

You prodded your cheek with your tongue. “Yeah, so?”

“They’re, like, tiny terrors.” Vegas reasoned. “Please? I’ll take your table six.”

“In that case, sold. They want ice water with lemon and a coke.” You accepted easily, waving your hand to shoo the pesky waiter off. “Scadaddle, Vegas.”

“Scadaddling.” He grinned, running off to grab drinks and allowing your attention to float back to the dark haired man at your side.

“So, carnivals?” you offered, raising a brow. “You know there are clowns right.”

“Clowns are harmless.” Robert defended lightly, his eyes following Vegas all the way to the drink station before they found you, a harshness behind his endlessly azure gaze. “You’re going to have to get over that aversion at some point.”

“I’m good.” You sucked on your teeth, reminded of a slobbering maw and thousands of needle like teeth. “I’m afraid for a reason. But I’ll consider the carnival, my friend Daphne and her boyfriend might want to go probably. I’ll be a third wheel, so  _ maybe _ ,” you stressed the word, making sure not to sound eager. “I’ll consider it.”

“Well, I’m persistent.” Running a hand through slicked back tresses, he shot you a charismatic smile. 

“Obviously.” You quipped, stepping back and giving a soft roll of your eyes, not bothered in the slightest.

Swinging by the drink station and pouring a glass of coke, you slipped Robert’s order to the ticket perch and leaned over the order counter. “Onion rings, and I wouldn't be upset if you added a couple extra.”

Adam perked up from the table top grill, turning to give you a curious smile. “Oh really?”

“Yes really. They’re for my new neighbour,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of Robert, letting Adam pull the last of his burger patties off the grill and plate them before he skipped up to the counter with a sly look and find him.

“Cute,” Adam nodded, tilting his scarf wrapped head and giving you an impressed look. “My kind of cute? Gay cute?”

You held back a snicker, shaking your head. “Nah, well, I don’t think so? Maybe bi or something, but I don’t think he could handle all of you, Adam.”

You gestured vaguely to the fry cook, sharing the grin he fixed on you with. He rolled his wrists, fluttering thick lashes and spinning. “Not many can, [First Name]. The perks of being a black and gay man in a small Maine town, however, is that  _ allll _ the twinks flock to me. Isn’t that right, Vegas, Baby?”

Vegas shrank away, having appeared to snag a plate from the counter and gave the fry cook a less than thrilled look. “This is sexual harassment.”

Adam threw a hand to his chest, mocking insult. “Vegas, sweetie, I thought we had something special.”

“Unless it’s the burger deluxe with a side of fries, we don't have shit.” The man insisted, his midwestern accent slipping into his words as he flushed bright red.

You sent Adam a sly look, knowing the game he was playing, and began to turn.

“Anyhow, extra onion rings. Don’t burn them.”

“I’ll try.” Adam waved you off, wagging his eyebrows at your least likeable coworker and sending him a quick smooch. “I’ll get that burger for you, don’t worry sweetie.”

You heard the groan of frustration from your coworker as you hurried back to Robert’s table, setting the drink down and slipping away again before he could say a word, not that he looked like he would bother, with his gaze glued to other patrons of the diner.

The rest of your work day went swimmingly, and by three sharp Daphne had appeared to take over.

You slipped your apron off in the small break room, letting out an exhausted sigh as Daphne pulled her long auburn locks into a high ponytail.

“I’m beat. Watch out for table six, they’re almost done eating but oh my god the woman is awful. She knocked her water off the table on purpose, I swear to god.” You rolled your apron, stuffing the vibrant sky blue cloth into your handbag and looking over your shoulder to Daphne, who you guessed, could be considered your best friend.

“Are they in our section?” She groaned, tilting her head back and making a pained expression. “Please say no.”

“They are, but Vegas is covering that table, I took another table of his but they left. Vegas had to mop all the water up, it was a good time.”

“Chaotic evil table six lady for the win.” The redhead cheered halfheartedly, tying her apron. “Oh, Jeremy wants to go to the carnival next week, I know you aren’t doing anything, so we want you to come along.”

Throwing your purse over your shoulder you shrugged. “I’ll get back to you. Clowns, ya know?”

Daphne made a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, I told Jeremy. He really wants you to come though for some reason. Plus, you’d be third wheeling, but he is insisting i ask you. He said he’s going to ask Adam too, but you know Adam, he’s in his own world is he isnt working so he probably wouldn't come either.”

“If you can get Adam to come, I’ll do it. That man, with the right amount of liquor and some ping pong balls at a carnival game? I’d be set for the night.”

Daphne practically cackled, smacking your arm. “Get out of here, I’ll see you sunday, don’t forget. Jeremy is making dinner, bring wine.”

You parted ways after a short one arm hug and once you had waved goodbye to Adam, you slipped out the back door and dug your keys from your purse to head home.

 

* * *

He gazed up, watching as the scraps of Trevor McDonald’s corpse hovered in a current of stabilized control that encircled his most prized keepsakes. The water tower had served him for many decades as a carefully hidden nest, and after many of his long rests, he would return to wander the sewers he had long embedded into his brain just to pass the time. But now, for some reason, he had chosen to take up shelter in the Neibolt house.

Tapping a new pack of cigarettes against the meat of his palm, he let his eyes narrow.

This was bullshit.

Unwrapping the cellophane from the pack he grimaced, knowing exactly why he had chosen the change in pace. The Waitress. The Telepath. [First Name].

He wanted to visit her as Robert, not Pennywise. She had started a relationship with him, one of friendship, the concept not completely foreign to him, but surprising all the same. The night before, when he had finally taken his favored form, he had _ felt _ her. In his den, watching him feed. She had found him one way or another, and now he was invested.

A human? Projecting themselves and reading minds? Not to mention taking an interest in him. Well,  _ Robert _ , but still, that form was part of him. The human was interested in him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t return the sentiment.

Being Robert, encompassing a human expression and showing, ugh, emotions, was a challenge, but he accepted it. For her.

Sticking a cigarette between full lips he let it light, sucking on the filter and letting a growl escape his chest.

He could just kill her. End the suspense.

But try as he might to think of a way to kill the human, he couldn't conceive the thought. The very notion of taking her life was rejected near immediately from his mind and it bothered him. At the diner he listened for her voice, following her conversations throughout the remainder of her shift. Vegas, some coworker of hers, had caught his attention.

Not in a good way.

There was a flirtatious twang to his words, pet names spoken, and vulgar thoughts aimed at the waitress. Hearing those dimwitted things, feeling those lustful yearnings sent white hot streaks of  _ something _ through the creature.

Rage. Jealousy. ...Possessiveness?

It was all three, rolled into a tight ball and forced down his gullet.

While eating those admittedly delicious onion rings (he would make sure to spare this Adam character he had heard was the cook) he reflected on what exactly it meant to feel such rampant emotions.

When her shift had ended and she waved to him in farewell, a flush to her cheeks from hard work and her smile glowing, he knew what it meant.

He wanted the human. Maybe he would humor himself and then eat her later, for the moment he wasn't sure, but for now, he wanted her.

All of her.

He spun on his heels, taking a step forward and instantly finding himself on a sidewalk, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk and stalking down the concrete. His body ached momentarily at the sudden usage of his power, but he shrugged it off, assuming it was a side effect of having just woken up days before. He arrived to the doorstep of a small two story home, its quante size and polite upkeep reflecting its owner perfectly, and without a thought, he turned the handle.

The locked clicked open upon his request, locking back up again when he closed the door behind him. With a cigarette still burning at his lips, he carefully walked about the living room with great consideration, eyeing each and every item the human had gathered in her home. She had not arrived home quite yet, not that it would have bothered him if she had, he would have just cloaked his presence and gone about his day.

Long fingers came to rest on her suede couch, dragging themselves over the texture as his eyes wandered about the rest of the room. He smelt her, his cigarette smoke erasing some of her scent, but within the confines of her home, he caught the heavy notes of her personal perfume. Honeysuckle, if he had to guess, jasmine and a scent he could only describe as sunlight. Positively mouthwatering.

With a flick of his wrist, he banished the cigarette from his hand, tossing it through the void and letting it float in the abyss. He didn't need it, not when he has something just as addicting in front of him.

Following the layout of the home he found a kitchen and bathroom on the first floor, a flight of stairs leading him to a set of bedrooms. He hovered in the doorway of the one he knew she rested in, based on the intensity of her smell that wafted across the expanse of the room and hit him like a wall. His tongue shot out, wetting his lips, and he stepped inside.

The bed was a mountain of blankets and pillows, a nest really, and he found himself drawn to it. Within the layers of the throws he caught a whiff of something pungent and raw, which upon further inspection, he realized was fear.

Nightmares, he guessed.

Flipping the blankets over, he felt his tongue prod his cheek, the scent nearly overwhelming.

Diffently nightmares.

“Shouldn't have looked me in the eyes, dollface.” He mused, pushing away a guilty swell to his heart as he smoothed out the fabric of the blankets, humming.

A tired engine’s purr alerted him to his favorite humans arrival and he perked up, letting a lazy smile grace his lips.

“Time to go.” He murmured, and in a flash, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wanted to call Robert "Bobert" for 84 years. Bless fanfiction. Anyhow, things are going to pick up from here, the exposition is officially over y'all. Next chapter there will be more interactions between the reader and Bobert. Also, a bit a of a time skip. The next chapter will be published pretty soon, as I'm currently half way finished with it as we speak lmao.  
> I also have a playlist i use for this fanfiction, would anyone care to hear about the songs??? lemme know in the comments, ya sewer sinners.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double notes, btw. Thanks so much for the love you guys! I never expected this to get much attention and every time i check up on the fic, i seem to have a flood of messages!!! This means so much to me, i love reading your comments!  
> Apparently Dunkaroos are still a thing in canada, btw. I didnt know this, but, uh, I'm going to buy some off ebay, mark my words.  
> The playlist and a shout out for a new Pennywise/Reader fic i read that I really loved is at the end!  
> Enjoy the fic, ya sewer sinners!

Mike Hanlon perused the shelves of the Derry library, pushing a book cart and swaying slightly to the soft beat of the music that sang to him from a radio system overhead. The loose and squeaky front wheel of his cart barely hindered him, but when turning down and around the shelves he found it annoying how hard he had to jerk the cart to make sure it drove down the correct aisle.

The library was long closed, with the front sign flipped and the inside lights dimmed. It was nearing a quarter past nine at night, but he still had work to do, so the kindly man continued on his daily chores, glad to be nearing the weekend- his few short days off before the work week began anew.

Grabbing a new book in his hand he glanced over the spine, finding himself in the right section to shelve the book.

“Allen Poe,” He murmured, nodding his head to the new song that played, gaining a flash of his childhood from when the song had been popular.

Pushing the book in its correct slot, he barely registered the soft ringing of the front entrance bell, but heard the sharp slam of the door that followed.

The man frowned, perking up and stepped away from the cart, peering from the fiction section and sweeping his gaze over the floor.

He recognized a silhouette of a rather tall figure standing in the dimmest part of the library, by the front doors and the book displays he had tirelessly set up for halloween. He saw an arm of the figure raise, a redhot end of a cigarette lighting as they took a drag.

“Excuse me?” Mike called, crossing his arms and huffing. “But the library is closed, and smoking is strictly prohibited.”

“Hn. Good to know.” Replied the figure, who had a rather pleasant voice and was no doubt a man by the tone and deepness. “I’ll remember that next time, Mike.”

From the darkness shrouding the man, it was hard to make out his features. Mike narrowed his eyes, giving a sigh and began to walk towards the intruder.

“I don’t know how you got in, sir.” He said, adding in a sterner tone. “But you need to leave.”

From the shadows the man took a few slow steps to the light, his face unrecognizable to the librarian, but the mischief in his eyes seemed familiar- as well as the flash of malice that came when Mike rounded reading tables and closed in on the stranger.

“Funny Mike, I was gonna tell you the same thing, or at least something similar.” His eyes danced when Mike reached him. “Weird though, I always thought you would be the one to leave and maybe Egg Boy would stay. He seemed more like the small town boy anyhow.”

Mike was maybe a yard from the stranger before he spoke those words, and when he heard the teasing name, he tensed. The nickname wasn’t readily identifiable, but the way he said it, the way the man’s lips tilted in a knowing smirk, caused the librarian to hesitate. It was if he felt he was supposed to know the name, where it came from, but just couldn't bring himself to draw a conclusion. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, the man grinned.

“Right…” He spoke slowly, studying the man’s face. He couldn't have been past his late twenties, but there was an age to existence, an almost predatory look in his stare and a leanness to his form that seemed near inhuman. Alarms rang through Mike’s mind, but he silenced them, clearing his throat. “Do I know you, kid?”

“Oh, I could say ya do, Mike Hanlon.” The man drawled, taking the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke into the air. Without hesitation he crushed the stub between his fingers, the sizzle of burnt flesh forgotten as he closed the distance between himself and the now frightened librarian.

Eyes that once had been the color of sapphires and a clear sky darkened and shifted to hues of amber, Mike’s heart stopping at the sight. It came back to him in a flood of memories, images and emotions. The butcher shop where he saw the clawing limbs of burn victims struggling to grab him, the stream where he first encountered his childhood friends and fought against Bowers and his pack of animals, the raw terror he felt upon first seeing the hulking form of a twisted and mangled clown, when his life flashed before his eyes during his battles with Bowers and IT.

Everything he had suppressed, all the fragments locked away, resurfaced in a split second.

He fell back, scrambling away from the man and letting out a horrified cry. “NO! We killed you!”

Handsome features twisted and morphed, vanishing from sight and becoming the grotesque creature he had thought long gone.

Pennywise The Dancing Clown gave a hoot, his painted lips jerking into a fanged grin. “Oh no, Mike.”

He waved a gloved finger, the windshield motion itself insulting as he corrected Mike.

“You can’t kill me. You never could.”

Pennywise’s voice, lilting and comical, had a venom to it that struck terror into the human. Mike backed into a set of chairs, using them to prop himself up as he made a mad dash for the exit. The effort was wasted, because before he could reach the book displays, he was pulled back.

Gloved fingers wrapped themselves around his neck, hot and rancid breath fanning against his face. Something wet that burned his eyes fell down his cheeks, and he let out a strangled sob. Bill, Beverly, Ben, Eddie, Stan and Richie. Would they be next? How could he have forgotten? What would become of Derry now?

“Oh, don’t worry Mikey.” The clown sang, taking a moment to sniff the air. He must have found the scent of the weeping man’s fear to be palpable, because a gleeful rumble came deep from his chest. If Mike hadn’t been so terrified, he would have thought it resembled a pur. “They won’t suffer… Unlike you.”

Gloves gave way to rough skin and ragged claws, which pierced the sweaty skin of his neck and forced a harsh cry out of him.

“I’m not afraid of you.” The human squirmed, trying to fight off the hand that snaked under his arm. It wrapped along the length of the limb and applied inhuman pressure, easily shattering bone. He screamed hoarsely, and went limp, the excruciating pain too much for him to bare. “I’m not afraid.”

“Yes.” Pennywise growled, dragging the claws up the side of his neck and across the flesh of his head, leaving strips of muscle and exposed tissue in his wake. Two fingers came to rest against the girth of Mike’s forehead, tilting his head back at an angle that strained his spine. “You are.”

Mike’s eyes feverishly looked over the face of the creature, his mouth breaking open in panic when he saw the clown’s jaw unhinge. Jagged, yellow, and glistening fangs met his gaze, Pennywise cocking his head to the side with a jerk and throwing his head down to meet the human’s exposed face.

Blood exploded in the creature's mouth on impact, hundreds of teeth digging into the meat of his victims head and tugging it away as he tore at the poor man’s face, throat and shoulder. It was over in seconds, and with a satisfied gurgle Pennywise let his grip go slack, pulling his bloodied maw from the flesh of his meal.

Mike Hanlon’s corpse crumpled to the floor within a wet puddle of his own blood. There was no hesitation when he crouched down, snapping the human’s head off his shoulders with a twist of his wrists and he gorged himself then, leaving no remains of the human man who had once faced him as a boy. He finished his feast in a timely manner, the blood pooled on the floor was easy to erase with a wave of his hand.

His shift back to Robert was quick, and despite the duller sense of taste he had in the form, he hummed at the fresh kill still dirtying his lips.

He wouldn't need to feed for many days to come.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunday couldn't come quick enough. It couldn’t end quick enough either however.

Daphne and Jeremy, two Derry born adults, had started a tradition not long before you came to the small town with inviting close friends and family to their house for a nice dinner and to share a couple bottles of wine. It wasn't anything too big either, maybe a total of nine people, but you had always found yourself on the outskirts of the group. Adam, Jeremy’s twin brother, was a similar outcast who stuck by you when he actually attended the meals. Usually, however, Adam would cut out right after dinner and leave you to make insanely awkward conversation with Jeremy and Daphne’s old high school friends.

You adored Adam, but damn, he was a brat sometimes.

You liked Daphne’s friends, they were sweet east coast gals with warm smiles and slightly judgy eyes but oh well. The dull witted men they arrived with were really the ones that irritated the hell out of you. Jeremy was a smart guy, but he had unfortunately been a jock in his golden years. This, naturally, meant the load of his pals only hand a handful of brain cells between them from multiple concussions and underage beer binges.

Usually they chatted casually about sports which wasn’t much of a bother, but often they would skirt around more sensitive topics and it irritated both you and Jeremy. Sometimes, during the occasional weekend where the smaller dinner party became a sports party instead, you and Jeremy would have to retreat from the small minded folks who waltzed into his and his girlfriends home. Football sundays often led to an increase in party goers.

The original nine or ten became easily twenty, with stragglers wandering in with a case of beer every once in a while. You liked Jeremy, he was a cool and down to earth guy who treated Daphne like a queen. He mirrored your opinions in politics, he was a happy drunk and boy, did he make a mean bowl of beer cheese for football sundays.

That particular Sunday, arriving with a bottle of red wine in hand, you shortly realized that you’d need a glass the moment you walked through the door.

Taking your muddy shoes off, you peeked around the corner into the dining room, seeing the backs of a handful of locals. Huddled around a meat and cheese plate with beers in hand, Jeremy (looking less than thrilled) and his friends were talking about Trevor Mcdonald and the mysterious disappearance of the town librarian, Mike Hanlon. A sensitive topic indeed, you mused.

“-his mom said all they found of him was a torn shoe. Like a bear or something got him.” Said one of them, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

You rounded the mudroom, hearing the muted murmurs of distaste from Jeremy’s friends, raising the bottle in greeting to them and catching apologetic dark brown eyes behind horn rimmed glasses.

They lowered their voices as you passed by, and Jeremy turned from his circle to give you a short but very welcoming hug. The men behind him cleared their throats and all gave a weak mumble in greeting.

“‘Sup, everyone.” You nodded at them with a polite smile.

“Heya, Daphne’s in the kitchen with the other gals. Dinner’ll be ready soon.” He ushered you away, shooting his friends a perturbed glare before covering it up with a softened look. Being a sweet guy as he was, he didn’t want you to overhear.

A man with sandy blond hair, Dylan, raised his beer to you in acknowledgement.

“Sorry.” He said, not having to go in detail. You knew what he was apologizing for and you shrugged.

“It’s cool.”

Dylan offered a smile that you returned uncomfortably, leaving the dining room they had collected themselves in and waltzing into the kitchen.

Daphne, crowded by her friends, froze a moment before relaxing. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here! We have a bottle of moscato opened already, if you want some?”

“Pour me two damn glasses.” you have a happy sigh, opening the stainless steel fridge and stuffing the bottle inside the door.

“Seriously,” Samantha, Daphne’s friend from senior year, agreed with a huff. “With everything thats happened?”

 _Great_. They were going to talk about it too.

You took the long necked glass offered, leaning against the marble counter and tipping the glass back as the women resumed their earlier chatter.

“Oh, i know!” Karen, a mom of two little boys and old nextdoor neighbour of the redheaded hostess scoffed. “I bet you, it was Mike Hanlon who made Trevor disappear. He always had, well, a feeling to him. Ya know?”

Daphne frowned, eyes flickering to you is obvious distaste from the way she worded her theory. You forced the entire glass down your throat, and shuffled the glass back over to Daphne. She filled it once more, topping off her own glass with a small sigh. Thinly veiled racism paired oh so well with moscato, you decided with a rough glare.

“Mr. Hanlon was a sweet man.” Daphne defended lightly. “He’s a little odd, but a kind and caring guy, Karen.”

Samantha and Karen continued as if the redhead hadn’t spoken a word. Together, the two of you shared a look and drank.

“My mom said there was a crazy amount of kids that went missing like twenty five years ago. I wonder if it's like, a copycat kidnapper? Do you think more kids will go missing?”

You turned to Daphne and began in a more cheerful tone. “So, what's for dinner? Is Adam coming?”

“He bailed, something about hitting up Bangor for church boys.” She offered you a shrug, mirroring the uncomfortable look in your eyes. “And I made roast.”

“Twentyseven, actually.” Came Samatha’s correction.

“Oh, sounds delicious. I need a home cooked meal, I’m basically shoveling granola bars down my mouth and eating microwaved top ramen to avoid doing dishes.” You admitted over the discussion you were desperately trying to ignore. Thankfully, Daphne seemed to feel the same way.

 

“Oh, right, like twelve kids went missing over a year. It was some Bower’s guy, right? Killed his dad and his friends and went looney? The cops found him at the bottom of the well at the Neibolt house?”

Your head snapped up to attention, a sudden eery chill causing you to take interest.

Samantha pursed her lips. “You know, i heard someone bought the old Neibolt house? Some single guy. Jessica,” She gestured between Daphne and yourself, nodding in your general direction. “The one from the diner,” She resumed eye contact with Karen. “She told me the guy is cute or whatever. And young. Must be pretty creepy too if he moved into that musty old thing. I bet its haunted!”

“Oh, I know its haunted! That place watches you, i swear to god, i have no idea why someone would buy the place up.” Karen gave a whimsical laugh, but you furrowed your brow and cleared your throat.

“So does Derry have a crime issue? I moved there thinking it was super safe.”

Samantha blinked passively, as if she just remembered you were in the room. There was a glaze in her eyes as she spoke. “Oh yeah, Derry’s safe. Quiet and what not. Thats why Trevor going missing is so worrisome and odd.”

“But you just-” You hesitated, swirling the wine in your glass and shaking your head, overcome with a feeling to just drop the subject. It was your day off. You had dreamt of a horrible fate concerning Trevor days before, and tonight you didn't need to be reminded of anything besides Daphne’s home cooking and casual Derry gossip that didnt center around a child’s disappearance. “So, is everyone excited for the carnival?”

  


You left Daphne and Jeremy’s house stuffed full of food and happy. Driving home, you stuck a cassette into the stereo of your truck, humming along to the invigorating vocals of _U2_. Derry was a casual hub, with the small town charm you has yearned to find when you were younger. It was devoid of skyscrapers and the disgusting jerky architecture of government buildings. Derry was simple, safe, homey. The streets that mingled with parks and cracked sidewalks were not ridden with trash or the homeless, but covered in chalk from hopscotch or forgotten bikes of children who occupied the modest homes of the area. There were only a handful of red lights, the rest of the town just winding back roads and carefully composed signs.

You turned off Kansas street and onto Neibolt, slowing as you drove up to your home. The music on the cassette came to a stop as you pulled in, and once you opened your door and took the keys out of the ignition, you craned your neck up, catching movement down the street.

You hopped out your truck, locking and shutting the door, heading to the back and leaning against the heavy trunk, waving to the familiar silhouette that stalked down the same cracked sidewalks you had admired moments before.

“Bobert! It’s been a hot minute!” You called, beaming when the silhouette waved ack in response.

An orange glow illuminated handsome features suddenly, Robert using a thick lighter to light his cigarette before he stepped onto your property, making his way to you.

He approached, blowing smoke from his lips and letting the nighttime breeze carry it far away.

“Is this going to be our thing now?” He mused, smiling despite himself. “Are you going to call me Bobert all the time?”

“Maybe, is that so bad. Come on. Lets sit on the porch.” You nodded to the porch swing, feeling jittery with excitement and wondering where the confidence had emerged from. Then again, Daphne had poured you an awful lot of moscato that night, and you hadn’t denied the offer.

“I’ll have you know, I’d prefer Bob over Bobert, Pipsqueak.” He drawled, following in your stead to the porch, where the automatic light flickered the life.

You plopped down on the swing, making room for your neighbor and patting beside you. “Only old men are named Bob.”

He chuckled at that, taking another hit from his cigarette and lowering himself down. Lightly, he pushed his weight back, letting the porch swing sway. You shifted a leg under yourself, allowing him to swing the two of you.

“Well how have you been in the last few days?” You began, not bothered with the east coast chill that rustled nearby trees.

“Wonderful.” He picked the cigarette from his lips, grinning. “Updated my home a little more, had a nice meal. What about yourself?”

“Fine. The whole,” You gestured vaguely. “Trevor McDonald disappearance had the town flipping shit. It’s understandable, but hearing the gossip everywhere i go it unnerving.”

Robert hummed in agreement. “That librarian going missing just adds to the drama.”

“I met him a few times. Nice guy, he really enjoyed these books by a guy name Bill Denborough, he told me they were childhood friends once or something.” You gazed out past the porch awning, crossing your arms and watching as thin veils of clouds attempted to cover the stars.

“Never knew him.” The man next to you said in a blase tone, shrugging. “But you should be careful, it's Derry sure, but you never know what does bump in the night around here.”

You snorted a laugh. “Oh man, the boogeyman of Derry is gonna get me Robert, help.”

“Someone caused the kid and librarian to go missing, thats all I’m saying.” He offered lightly, a warning hidden in his words.

“You know, if I’m being honest,” You sighed, cocking you head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “If there was anything weird going on here, I would love for it to be, like, vampires.”

Robert choked on his smoke, sending sweet smelling coughs out as he cracked up beside you. “Vampires?!”

“Vampires.” you nodded, smirking. His laughs submidded, becoming chuckles as he continued to smoke, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you would want vampires. Are we talking Nosferatu, or Dracula?” He dared to ask, sliding a smoldering gaze of sky blue to you.

“Excuse you, I’m talking Kiefer Sutherland’s David from Lost Boys.” You scoffed, mocking insult and slapping a hand to your chest. “Glam rock vampires or none at all, you fool.”

“Your idea of a monster that kidnaps children and steals librarians is a mullet wearing punk ass Kiefer Sutherland look alike? You’re joking.” Robert clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “I’ve never seen the movie, honestly, but he doesnt sound nearly as impressive as the godfathers of horror.”

You shifted, pulling your phone out and checking the time. It was only a little past ten, and you didnt work monday, so why not.

“Listen here, Bobert.” You pushed yourself off the swing, stumbling a bit, and evening your stance as the man cast you a considerate look. “Can I take a moment of your time and show you just how very, very, wrong you are?”

“Are you inviting me on a movie date, [First Name]?” Robert spoke with a careful tone, eyes full of mischief. When you nodded, his lips quirked into a familiar smirk and he rose to his impressive height.

Carefully, you plucked the cigarette from his lips and stamped it out, catching how his eyes watched your every move.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

You opened your door with a quirk work of your keys, ushering the man inside and turning the lock as soon as you followed him in. With a flick of your wrist the living room lights were turned on and you kicked off your shoes, leading robert to do the same.

“Do you want anything to drink? I think The Lost Boys is in my dvd player already- don’t give me that look.” You pointed at the bemused look he shot you, wondering past the couch and heading to the kitchen. “I’ll be out to set it all up, do you need anything to drink?”

“Any cognac?” He called, dropping to the suede couch and unfurling long limbs over your cushions.

You gave a laugh, appearing in the doorway of your kitchen. Robert leaned his head back, curious with your response.

“I’m sorry, but since I make like nine bucks an hour plus tips I unfortunately don’t have cognac. I have Fireball and some cream vodka. Oh, maybe some Jameson whiskey.”

“A simple no would suffice.” He gave a roll of his eyes. “Get me the Fireball.”

You left the doorway, opening a lower cabinet by your sink and peering inside. You grabbed the bottle, standing and retrieving a whiskey glass from the upper cupboard.

“Ice?” You yelled.

“No.” He answered back. “I take it straight too, no chaser!”

You poured a decent amount in the glass, screwing the lid back on and grabbed a bottle of water for yourself from the fridge.

You retreated back to the living room, turning on a nearby lamp and shutting off the brighter lights, handing Robert his alcohol before bending down in front of your tv and setting everything up.

Eyeing the contents of his drink, you watched from the corner of your eye as Robert dipped his head back, downing almost all the liquor in his glass.

You gave a heavy sigh. “Dude, if you think I’m letting you get shit faced, you are so wrong.”

The tv came to life, the dvd menu greeting you as you padded back to the couch and snatched up the remote. You wiggled your way between the couch pillows and Robert, resting your leg against his and pressing play, grinning.

“Ready?”

“I’m going to need another six shots to be ready.” The man huffed, but settled closer against you, throwing his arm behind your head and getting comfortable. “Kiefer better deliver if I’m doing this sober.”

The night went by in a blur, Robert laughing at the appropriate times and pointing out the cheesiness. He wasn’t impressed, and that didn't bother you, nor hinder your love for the film. By the end, once the two of you had spent the evening getting up and retrieving bags of chips, more whiskey and a bag of Reese's you had been saving for trick or treaters, you had ended up laying on each other and bickering lightheartedly over the special effects.

“Was it at least good?” you prodded, stuffing another peanut butter cup in your mouth. Robert was working on his tenth sweet, unwrapping it and giving a wry chuckle.

“Sure, it was good. Corey Haim was obviously the star. Best line? ‘My own brother, a goddamn shit sucking vampire.’ Classic, right there. I accept your glam rock vampires in the very least.” He popped the sweet in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He gave a thumbs up as the credits continued to roll. “I liked it.”

“Well I’m glad. Next time you can bring a movie you like.” You offered, checking the time on your phone.

“Next time? There’s going to be another date? You’re spoiling me, Princess.” He yawned, rolling his head to you. “Which reminds me, how many times am I going to have to ask about the carnival. I promise, i’ll fend off the clowns.”

You heaved a sigh dramatically, as if he was asking the world from you. Unbeknownst to him, however, Daphne had mentioned after dinner that Adam was going to flake from the carnival weekend she and Jeremy were planning on, so you had already begun to think about giving into the neighbours demands.

“Fine, but only if you promise to fend off the clowns. If one so much as comes twenty feet within my vicinity, I’ll flip. And it’s not a date-date, it's a friend date.”

“Flip out, or literally flip a clown?”

“Whichever comes first, I guess.” You shrugged, but started to stand. “But it’s almost one in the morning, so get your Bobert ass out of my house. I’ll get back to you with details about the carnival. My friend and her boyfriend are going too.”

“Our first date, and you’re making us do a double?” He scoffed, rising in time with you and stretching his long limbs.

“It’s not a date.” You reminded him, collecting the trash.

“It’s kind of a date.” Robert smirked, walking to the front door and slipping his shoes back on. “We’ll be in touch, Princess.”

“Not a date!” You threw over your shoulder as the front door opened.

“It’s a date.”

With those last sly words that drew a blush across your cheeks, he gave you one last glance of his amused hues and shut the door behind him, the sounds of his footfalls mirroring the quickening of your heart.

You bit your lip, containing the smile you knew was threatening to unfold. Robert, you’d known him for what, a week? A week, and he had already sat on your porch with you twice, mingled at your diner and asked you out on a date-but-not-a-date three times. He spent the night watching your favourite movie with you for gods sake!

You made your way to the kitchen, tossing the waste in the trash and rinsing the glass Robert had used.

You weren’t exactly looking for a relationship. Your dad had always had an open door policy with his significant others, staying with one before moving on to another at the drop of a hat. Then again, you father had always been a particular guy. He’d never been in a long term relationship, and despite that you ended up meeting each and every one of his dates.

Men, women, couples. Your childhood was a blur of your father's romances. He had always had a positive outlook on his relationships though, and he was sure to remind you that his life style wasn’t for everyone.

You had dabbled in romance, real heart wrenching oh-no-he-broke-up-with-me-I’m-gonna-die breakups had happened once or twice in your adolescence. There had been Danny from when you lived in Texas during your senior year. He was southern charm wrapped into a sweet smile and clad in a jean jacket with moussed up chocolate locks. The two of you were hot and heavy within the first month of your whirlwind relationship and he had asked you to prom with a dozen roses and a cheesy rhyme. He was perfect, you had thought, absolutely everything you wanted at eighteen.

Too bad that you had made the mistake of dropping your walls, unveiling his mind to your own, one night while you were on a date. Suffice to say, he wasn’t all he seemed.

All other relationships to follow went down the same path. You liked the guy, fell head over heels, and once you got the courage to see what he was hiding behind a pretty face, you realized most of them were just faking their way through the relationship or thinking of others instead of you.

There had been a few guys who weren’t terrible, just bad at lying to you about their feelings or overwhelming you with their own stress. Reading minds, sharing their emotions and never being able to seperate yourself from your past boyfriends had just made dating a tiresome act.

But now, with Robert, you were lying if you said you hadn't thought of the benefits. Not reading his mind, barely feeling any of his emotions, it seemed like a fair chance at romance for you.

You washed your hands, drying them with a tired sigh.

Maybe.

You’d wait and see, then maybe you could think of starting something more, but for now, the idea of keeping the man as a friend seemed more promising. As did the sweet release of your comfy bed and warm covers, which you sank into with a happy sigh.

A flick of your wrist and you switched the lights off, settling in bed and shutting your eyes, completely unaware of the glamoured figure who hovered above your bed.

You drifted to sleep soundlessly, and he waited patiently before settling at the edge of your bed and resting a heavy amber gaze on you.

“Rest up, Princess.” He murmured, procuring a cigarette from his jacket with a smirk. “You’ve got a wild ride ahead of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist;  
> Sunday Bloody Sunday - U2 / Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood / Fade Into You - Mazzy Star / Precious - Depeche Mode / Rebel Yell - Billy Idol / Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode / Eyes Without A Face - Billy Idol / Lullaby - The Cure / Disintegration - The Cure / Maps - The Yeah Yeah Yeahs / Roman Holiday - Halsey / Gorgeous - Taylor Swift / Thief - Ookay / Acceptance - So Contagious  
> I hope you guys like the playlist! Thats what I listen to while writing, along with a bunch more. I also listen to a remix of Melanie Martinez' Carousel, so you could add that if you'd like.  
> If there are three songs to focus on in the playlist it would be; Sunday Bloody Sunday / So Contagious / Precious  
> Shout out;  
> Blood Like Nectar by VioletFlower  
> Warning for attempted Non-con! But please go take a look when you get a chance, there is only a chapter out so far but I'm excited af for more!  
> Check out my Patrick Hockstetter / Reader fic, you nerds. Follow me at @Pattycake-hockstetter for IT content and to talk with yours truly.  
> The next chapter will be up in another week or so, so have fun you guys!


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